Turning Point
by Rose Madder
Summary: What might have happened if Christian had stopped Grace from leaving on that first night? WIP
1. Chapter 1

Note #1: This story begins on season 1, at the end of episode #5 "Kurt Dempsey", right after Christian and Grace had sex.

Note #2: I know not everyone will like this pairing, so let's get this straight before we start: reviews are good, flames are mean. I love reviews and appreciate constructive criticism, but flames aren't reviews, nor are they constructive. So there.

Credits: I don't own characters, I never meant to infringe anyone's copyrights, so please take this story for what it is -- fun -- and don't bother to suit me.

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Christian watched, dumbfounded, as Grace got up off the bed without a word and started to pick up her clothes from the floor. His breath was still ragged, his skin warm on the places where her body had been pressed against his. He propped himself on his elbows, struggling to regain his wits despite the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. It's not like he had expected -- or wanted -- her to stay over. But he also had never expected her to flee out of there just like that. Without saying anything. Without even looking back at him.

Grace put her panties on and looked around until she spotted her bra lying next to the foot of the bed. Christian watched numbly as she slid her arms through the straps of the bra, with her back still turned to him.

"Do you talk in your sleep?" he blurted out as she reached back to hook the bra.

"What?" she exclaimed, swirling around to give him a confused look.

_What?!?_ Christian stared back at her, shocked. _Where the hell did _**that **_come from?_

Looking at her, standing in the middle of the room in her underwear, a well-shaped eyebrow raised in questioning, he figured that, lame as that line was, it was too late to take it back, and he might as well proceed: it couldn't get any worse than that.

"Do you snore?"

"Is there a point on this?" she asked, glaring at him.

_Okay, so maybe it _**could**_ get worse than that._

"I have a surgery tomorrow morning," he said with a straight face. "I need a good night's sleep. Since you won't disturb my rest by snoring or babbling in your sleep," -- he shrugged -- "you might as well sleep over."

The silence that followed his words spoke volumes. The look in her eyes was... he had never seen a look like that. She seemed on the edge of either doing some serious physical damage or calling the guys in the white coats. Or both.

"What makes you think," Grace asked in a low, deliberate voice, "that I **_want_** to sleep over?"

_Good point._

"I don't snore, either."

Now he actually thought that she was going to turn on her heels and leave wearing only her lacy black panties and the bra that she hadn't finished buckling yet.

Grace opened her mouth to reply, but she found herself too astounded to speak. She finally closed her mouth again and just stared back at him with an unreadable expression, while her treacherous mind replayed the events of the evening. They had actually managed to keep their clothes on long enough to have a few drinks together, before they ended here, kissing and groping and hastily undressing each other on their way to the bed. And, surprisingly enough, they had had a good time together. The man could actually be good company when he wasn't too busy being a pig, she'd grant him that.

She studied Christian's face for a moment, struggling with mixed feelings. The moment he had rolled off her, reality had come crashing down and she had pretty much panicked. He had antagonized her from day one, never missing a chance to make her know that she wasn't welcome. What's more, during those few months in which she had been working for McNamara and Troy she had witnessed as a shocking number of women came in and out of Christian's life, lured by his charms and later discarded like trash. She just couldn't believe that she had just let that man add another notch to his headboard at her expense, and she had felt the urge to leave without looking back and forget that this night had ever happened.

Now, looking at Christian lying there and staring at her in silent expectation, she couldn't help but feel silly and even a little guilty. He might be a first class jerk when he wanted to, but right now he just looked abashed and surprisingly vulnerable. Besides, leaving now wouldn't make the previous events magically go away: it would just be rude. As long as she kept in mind that this had been nothing but a one night stand, staying for the night wouldn't make things any worse.

She wasn't about to say that out loud, though. Instead, Grace just sighed and walked back to the bed, taking out her bra again and dropping it on a chair as she passed by it.

"I've been accused of stealing all the covers, though," she muttered as she slid under the covers with him.

"I'd like to see you try," Christian snorted, rolling to the side of the bed and making room for her.


	2. Chapter 2

Grace opened her eyes and stared lazily at the DVD rack across the room; she squinted her eyes, trying to make out the titles in the distance, but they were too far away and she finally had to give up. She peered over her shoulder to see if Christian was awake; he didn't seem to be the kind of man who would want one of his one night stands to learn more about him than what his favorite position in bed was. In fact, he struck her more like the kind of man who would be giving her the money for the cab five minutes after he rolled off her. And yet... She sighed, not wanting to go down that road. As great as the sex had been, amazing enough to make her insides melt right now just for remembering the way he had... _Damn, Grace! Focus._

Seeing that Christian was still asleep, she slowly sat up on the bed, careful not to wake him up. The cold morning breeze hit her naked body as she left the warmth of the covers, and she shivered and reached out to pick up the blouse that still laid discarded on the floor. It also made her realize that she had some rather urgent matters to take care of before bothering with DVD titles, and Grace put the blouse on and hastily tiptoed her way around the bed and towards the bathroom.

Since she was already there, she also took the time to wash her face and rinse her mouth with toothpaste, for the lack of a toothbrush. She shot her disheveled hair an annoyed look, and promptly chastised herself for doing so.

"I'm not trying to impress him," she muttered to herself before leaving the bathroom, whilst running her hand through her hair.

Grace silently walked towards the DVD rack; she felt curious in spite of herself, wanting to know what kind of movies a man like Christian would appreciate enough to buy them. Stopping before the rack, she studied the cases inside. "The Godfather" trilogy. "Little Shop of Horrors". "The Untouchables". Hitchcock's "Rope". "The Producers". Some of her personal favorites were there, along with others that she hadn't seen and a few about which she didn't care much, but at least she saw no Porky's-style teenage comedies, and no porn, either. He might watch them, but at least he didn't buy them.

"Are you snooping?" -- Christian's voice made her jump in place and turn around to face him with a slightly guilt look.

He was still in bed, propping himself on one elbow, a good-humored glint in his eyes as he watched her.

"I, uh... Hum!" -- Grace cleared her throat, gathering her wits. "A little," she admitted.

"Why, why, Dr. Santiago." -- he shook his head, giving her a look of mock reproach -- "Shame on you."

He sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, causing the sheet to slide off his naked body with a swishing sound. Damn, he looked even better in daylight! Grace managed to keep her eyes on his face while he got up from the bed, though, only allowing herself a generous peek when he turned his back to her to get his robe. _WOW!!!_

"Aren't you chilly?" he asked as he walked towards her, wrapping the robe around himself. "There's another robe in the closet."

"Actually," Grace said, turning around to place the DVD case that she was holding back into the rack, "I should get dressed. I have to stop at home to change before I go to work and..."

Christian took the "Little Shop of Horrors" DVD case from her hands, ignoring her remark as he asked conversationally:

"Have you seen this one?"

"I saw the remake with Rick Moranis," she said in the same tone, pretending that he wasn't naked under the robe and she wasn't wearing only her panties and a silk blouse with no bra.

"I've seen that one, too, but I didn't like it as much as I liked the original," he said, motioning his chin towards the DVD case in his hand. "I'm not really into musicals," he told her with a lopsided grin.

Grace smiled in spite of herself, and for a moment she wished she didn't have to leave just now. He looked relaxed and friendly like he never did at work, and she suddenly found herself wanting to reach out and settle those ruffled dark curls. She snapped away from those dangerous thoughts, though, and gently pushed him aside so that she could walk past him.

"I **_really_** have to go now," she said. "I still have to go home to change, and I left my car at the clinic."

"I'll give you a ride."

"Won't you be late for your surgery?" she asked, uncertain.

"I said in the morning", he replied as he headed to the bathroom, "not at the break of dawn."

"Well... Okay, then."

While he was in the bathroom, she used that time to quickly take off her blouse, put the bra on and put the blouse on again. She picked up her skirt from the floor, but realized that her shoes were nowhere to be seen.

"What's wrong?" Christian asked as he came out of the bathroom and saw her standing there with a slight frown on her face.

"I could swear I had shoes when I got here."

"I seem to recall that," he said, chuckling slightly. He looked around, too, and, not seeing said shoes, asked: "Have you looked under the bed?"

"No," she said, following his suggestion. "Not that it would've made any difference," she added a moment later, "since they're not there, either."

"Well," he said, heading to the door, his head down as he scanned the floor, "we didn't make many stops on our way here."

Grace didn't answer, unwilling to bring up that topic, and resumed her search in silence instead. There weren't many hiding places for a missing shoe in that room, though, and she was already putting her skirt on when Christian called out from the living room:

"I found one!"

As Grace entered the living room, he added, holding one shoe in each hand:

"And here's another one. Now, unless you had **_three_** shoes on..."

His grin faltered when he saw her enter the room, brushing her skirt off.

"You're already dressed," he said, giving her a somewhat baffled look.

She almost felt bad for having been so blatant in her intention to leave quickly, but then his expression changed.

"You're almost as quick to dress as you are to undress, Dr. Santiago." He gave her a smug grin as he added: "Almost."

"I don't wanna be the reason why you leave your patient waiting, Dr. Troy," she replied smoothly. Receiving the shoes he handed her, she asked: "You didn't happen to see my purse, too, did you?"

Christian motioned with his chin towards the purse, which was resting on the couch next to her.

"I'm allowed to have breakfast before we leave, though, ain't I?" he asked, raising a mocking eyebrow.

She made a face on him and he headed to the kitchen, saying over his shoulder:

"You might consider preparing your own coffee. I've been told that mine tastes like mud."

"How do you like your coffee?" she asked, following him.

"In someone else's cup," he said. She gave him a surprised look and he explained: "I don't drink coffee. I only keep it here because most people do, and I'm a good host."

"So, where do you keep the coffee?" she asked while he took a couple of oranges from the fruit basket on the counter.

"Here," he said, taking the coffee can out of the cabinet and handing it to her. "Do you want some juice, too?"

"No, thanks," she said, pouring some water into the coffeepot. "Coffee filter?"

"In the drawer to your left."

They were silent for a while, while she prepared her coffee and he sliced the oranges in half for his juice.

"Who's the patient?" she asked after a while, turning her back to the coffeepot to look at him. "The one you'll be operating this morning."

"Joseph Michaels," he said, putting two slices of bread in the toaster. "Well done, medium rare?" he asked, pointing at the toaster.

"The same way you make yours is fine," she said, leaning back on the counter. "I don't remember interviewing this one."

"We didn't have a psychologist in the clinic back when his mother came to us. To Sean," he corrected himself, raising his voice slightly over the sound of the fruit squeezer. "She didn't have the money then and their health plan wouldn't cover the surgery, so Sean turned her down."

"Didn't he qualify for pro bono?"

"We didn't do pro bono back then," Christian said, placing the two toasts on a plate and sliding it across the table and towards her. "Butter is in the fridge, and there's blueberry jelly in that cabinet right behind you."

"What made you and Sean suddenly decide to start working pro bono?" Grace asked, curiously.

Christian shuffled his feet, uncomfortable, but was spared from answering when the coffeepot behind her went off.

"Your coffee is ready," he said, turning his attention back to the fruit squeezer to get his juice.

"I suggest you eat those," he said, turning to her again with a glass of juice in his hand and pointing at the two toasts before her, "because I'm over due to my monthly shopping, and I'm afraid the supply level is shamefully low. There's some cheese in the refrigerator," he added, putting two more slices of bread in the toaster.

"Jelly is fine," she said, opening the cabinet to get it.

"Not much of a breakfast," he commented before she could get back to a subject that might take them dangerously close to the whereabouts of a certain dead pedophile. "I'll make it up for you on lunch."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Christian mentally slapped his own forehead. What had he just said? You didn't take girls out for lunch on the very next day: they started having weird ideas.

Grace, on the other hand, was glad that the open cabinet door didn't let him see her face as she stood frozen in place, her hand still resting on the jelly pot. _What? _This was **_so_** not like it was supposed to be! He was supposed to act like a jerk in the morning after: how dare he just stand there, being nice and making her laugh and talking nicely to her? And asking her out for lunch to boot, as if he actually cared for her company!

"Okay," she said, taking the jelly pot out of the cabinet and placing it on the table next to the toasts. _What?!?_

"Okay." _Damn!_

They both turned their attention to breakfast, carefully avoiding eye contact while they ate. They remained in an awkward silence for a while, until Christian suddenly asked:

"What made you decide to stop practicing psychology?"

Only when she raised her eyes from her food to give him a shocked look did he realize how slighting it had come out.

"I didn't mean..." he hastily said as she stiffened, pressing her lips tightly together, "Of course you're still a psychologist. I just... I mean, with patients, with your own patients. You used to work in a psychology clinic before you came work for us, didn't you?"

Grace gingerly placed her cup back on the table, willing herself to relax her defensive stance a notch or two.

"Yes," she said. "So?"

"So," Christian proceeded cautiously, "you had patients there, who were under your treatment. And..." -- he watched her warily and it took Grace a great deal of self control not to smile, her angry disposition already subdued -- "you don't do that any more. You interview potential patients and give us your professional opinion on whether they're eligible for surgery or not, but you don't get to treat them. Right?"

"Right," Grace said, nodding. She picked up her second toast and nibbled on it before proceeding.

"When I met Sean, I was thinking of taking a sabbatical year," she told him, "to work on my Master's degree. Sean's job offer seemed to fit like a glove; I'd still have a paycheck, but the work wouldn't be so demanding and there would be no clinical files to study at home. Obviously," she said quietly, lowering her eyes to the toast in her hand, "I couldn't be more wrong."

"What do you mean?" Christian asked.

"The work in the clinic isn't half as easy as I thought it would be," she sighed. "I have one interview, two at most, to figure out someone who didn't even want to see a psychologist in the first place, and is only interested in what the -- cue the air quotes -- real doctors have to say."

Christian just stared at her, disconcerted, while she took another bite of her toast.

"I just don't think I've been of much help during the past few months," she finally said, shrugging. "Even by a witch doctor's standards," she added bitterly, making him wince slightly.

"I told you, that was just meant to hurt you," he said apologetically.

"You told me that blaming me for missing Ellie's symptoms was just meant to hurt me," she said, frowning down at her toast.

"I was on a roll yesterday," he offered lamely, but it cracked her a smile, and he grinned sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said gently.

"You're gonna be much sorrier when I order, at lunch," she threatened him, the reluctant smile on her lips creeping its way to her eyes.

"My credit card limit is yours to exceed," Christian replied, smiling back at her, and he was utterly surprised by the fuzzy feeling that the reminder of that lunch date brought him.

"I'll just take a shower," he said, standing up as he finished his juice, "and we're off to the clinic."

He placed his plate and his empty glass into the dishwasher, and Grace stood up to do the same. When she turned her back to him and placed the items into the dishwasher, though, she suddenly realized that he was very close, standing right behind her.

"You coming?" he asked against her hair, sending shivers down her spine.

"I thought you were taking a shower first," she said throatily, not trusting herself to turn around and meet his eyes.

"I am," he said, standing so close to her that she could almost feel his body heat through their clothes. "You coming?"

"We're gonna be late," she said half-heartedly, leaning back against him as he snaked one arm around her waist.

"Only if we keep talking," he replied, grinning as he pulled her towards the bathroom.

One hour later, they were both darting across the living room, hastily buttoning up as they headed to the door.

"I told you we were gonna be late," Grace said, doing her best to run without tripping down her unbuckled high heel shoes.

"Hey, I was planning to keep it simple," Christian replied, zipping up his trousers and trying to simultaneously buckle his belt and unlock the door, "but **_someone_** just couldn't get enough."

He opened the door and the towel that she had been using to dry her hair was thrown on his face as she hurried past him, but not so fast that he couldn't see her smile. Giving her a light spank on the butt, he followed her to the garage and locked the door behind them.

"Come on, come on!" Grace urged him, putting her earrings on while she waited by the car's door. "Unlike you, I don't own the place."

"You've just slept with one of the owners, sweetheart," he said smugly, opening the door to the driver's side and entering the car. "That should count for something."

He reached out to unlock the other door for her and she quickly slipped into the car, rolling her eyes.

"For heaven's sake, grow up!" she chided, fastening her seat belt and leaning down forward to buckle her shoes.

"Just tell me where I should drop you," he said, unabashed, using the remote to open the garage door behind them.

"Well, it's on my way to the clinic," he said when she gave him the address, turning around to look through the rear window as he backed out, nimbly maneuvering the car through the open door. "If you think you can change in fifteen minutes, I can wait for..."

Christian turned around to engage the first gear and his voice died in his throat as he looked at the garage door and saw the word spray-painted in four-feet-tall pink letters:

"ASSHOLE"

Grace was still leaning forward, her head down as she buckled her shoes, and she shrieked in pain and surprise when he slammed on the brakes and she was thrown against the back of her seat.

"What are you..." she started to say angrily before she caught sight of his shocked look. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed when she followed his gaze and looked at the vandalized door.

"What is that?" she asked.

When he didn't answer, she turned her eyes to him again. He looked transfixed, his eyes locked on the word screaming against the white door.

"Christian?" she called, placing her hand on his arm.

"Nannette Babcock," he uttered, flabbergasted.

"What?"

"First, she trashed my car," he said, "and now, not satisfied, she found out where I live and has come for my house."

His jaw tightened as he looked at his trashed house. **_His_** house. He didn't have to turn around to know that other drivers were slowing down to read the word, as would every one of the other residents of the condo as they drove past Dr. Troy's garage door. And he had no doubt that this had been exactly Nanette's intention, to show the world what kind of selfish bastard the all-too-important surgeon was.

"Christian, it was months ago," Grace reasoned. "And we haven't heard from her since then."

"Yeah, I'm sure you'd love to think that it has nothing to do with her," he snapped, getting out of the car to inspect the damage.

"What!"

Grace jumped out of the car and joined him before the damaged door.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded.

"This," he said, gesturing towards the door, "is your fault!"

"Have you completely lost your mind?" she shrieked. "How on earth is this supposed to be my fault?"

"I wanted to operate her," he told her angrily. "She came to me asking for help, and I was damn well going to help her, but no! You just had to meddle!"

Grace took a sharp intake of breath, but Christian didn't take notice of her look of hurt and anger as he proceeded heatedly:

"If you hadn't been so intent on questioning my medical decisions in order to show off for Sean ..."

"Maybe if **_you_**," she cut him off angrily, "had waited until you listened to **_my_** medical opinion before you went playing 'knight-in-shining-armor' to that poor girl, her disappointment wouldn't have been so big!"

"Don't bother waiting for me; I'll take a cab," she hissed, opening her purse and fumbling inside, searching for her cell phone as she swirled on her heels and walked away from him.

"You can take the Hell Express for all I care," he snarled, heading back to the car.


	3. Chapter 3

Christian was fuming as he drove to the clinic. His car. His house. His possessions. Things he had earned through a lot of hard work. From the darkest corner of his mind, a small voice rose to remind him of how high the price was that he had paid for the things he now owned, but Christian shut out the voice without as much as flinching; he was very good at shutting out that voice. He stepped down harder on the gas pedal and focused on the safer ground that was his anger. This time he wouldn't settle for paying for the damage and boiling in his own rage: he'd call the cops first thing after Joseph Michaels' surgery and file a restraining order against Nanette Babcock. If that crazy bitch thought that she could mess with him twice and get away with that, she had another thing coming! And he would also have a good talk with Sean about establishing some limits for the staff when it came to questioning his medical decisions, starting with a certain nosy shrink.

The tires screeched in protest as he made a sharp turn to the right and entered the clinic's garage. Christian parked his car next to Sean's and turned off the engine, but he didn't get out of the car right away. Anger was good, alright, it kept his mind from wandering to not so safe sites; but right now he and Sean had a patient to operate on, a young man disfigured by multiple burns, and to perform such delicate surgery he would need a cool mind. He let his breath out slowly, taking long, deep breaths, trying to empty his mind as he waited for his heartbeat to slow down.

When he finally got out of the car, Christian stretched his arms in front of himself and was glad to see that there wasn't the slightest sign of shaking in his hands. He nodded to himself and quickly walked up the stairs, glancing at his watch and realizing that he was right on time. He actually made it to the scrub room before Sean did, and when his partner arrived, a couple of minutes later, he found Christian whistling a merry tune while he scrubbed his hands and forearms with antimicrobial soap.

"Someone woke on the right side of the bed today," Sean said, smiling as he joined his friend.

"Not exactly," Christian sighed, the memory of the very pleasant start to the morning pushed aside with a promptness that could only be acquired through years of shutting out unpleasant memories as well. "It seems that Nanette Babcock paid me a visit last night."

"Uh… Nanette who? -- Sean furrowed his brow, trying to put a face to the name of one of Christian's never-ending line of conquests.

"Nanette Babcock," Christian repeated. "Remember her? Really fat girl, wanted to look pretty for her high school reunion? The one you made me turn down, following the advice of the resident shrink -- who, mind you, you hired behind my back?"

"I'm gonna skip the pesky comments and cut to the chase," Sean said, arching his eyebrows. "What do you mean, paid you a visit?"

"I mean," Christian said, "that she found out where I live, and decided to do to my garage door what she had already done to my car."

"Oh!" Sean uttered. "**_That_** Nanette Babcock."

"That Nanette Babcock," Christian echoed grimly. "Who will soon find herself facing a restraining order."

"You're gonna call the police?" Sean asked, while rinsing the soap off his hands.

"Wouldn't you?"

"Well, yes," Sean said, nodding. "Except… you don't have any proof that this was indeed her doing, do you?"

"Who else could it be?"

"First," Sean said, pushing the swing doors with his body as he walked backwards into the OR, "correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think 'who else could it be' counts as proof. And second," he added as his partner joined him by the side of the already anesthetized patient, "how about the long line of scorned women you've left behind for the last, say, few months, just to keep the list short?"

"What? No!" Christian exclaimed, quickly rejecting the idea that his outburst earlier that morning might have been based on a false premise. " No one goes to that extents just because of a messy breakup. It was Nanette Babcock," he repeated stubbornly.

"If you say so…" Sean gave in, shrugging.

"I say so," Christian said emphatically. "Liz, would you please?…" -- he gestured towards the stereo and, as Liz turned it on and the first notes of the Rolling Stones' "Dancing With Mr. D" filled the air, the two surgeons started to work.

* * *

When they left the OR, three hours later, both men were tired but happy. With patience and skill they had made a lot of progress with Joseph's scars, and they had now reason to believe that with a couple of more surgeries they'd be done with him. While Sean went to deliver the good news to the boy's mother, Christian headed to his office to take proper legal measures against Nanette Babcock and, hopefully, have the police inspect the damage so that he could tell the maintenance guy at the condo to start cleaning his garage door.

Grace, on the other hand, had had the morning from hell. Thirty minutes waiting for her taxi, with the sea breeze tousling her still moistened hair, had given "bad hair day" a whole new meaning. She had arrived at the clinic at 9 am, trying to convince herself that the stupid bandana didn't look so bad, only to be informed that her very miffed 8 am appointment had left twenty minutes ago, something about which she was certain Dr. McNamara would have a lot to say. Before she could seek refuge in her office, though, that insufferable Mrs. Grubman had flounced into the lobby and scheduled herself a surgery, dismissing her with but a sardonic look to her hair when she had tried to introduce herself. Grace was pretty sure that having patients scheduling their own surgeries was against the clinic's policy, and she just didn't understand why on Earth Sean and Christian put up with that woman.

After that, she had managed to stay in her office for the rest of the morning, fuming and trying to no avail to get some paperwork done while her mind kept bouncing back and forth between her latest quarrel with that arrogant, self-centered jerk and the amazing things said jerk had done to her earlier in the shower. Not to mention -- and that was the part that made her close her eyes and grunt in dismay when she thought of it -- the things that **_she_** had whispered in his ear while he did so. Unlike the previous night, this morning she had held nothing back, and now all she could do was sit there and curse herself for having let him talk her into staying for the night.

At noon, while Christian was back at his house talking to a police officer, Grace used her lunch hour to go straight to the nearest beauty saloon, have some damage control done on her hair, eat a sandwich and get back to the clinic for Megan O'Hara's consult. Sean was already there with Mrs. O'Hara and her husband when she entered the room, and Grace's relief for Christian not being there didn't last long as she took notice of Sean's expression, his pleasant smile not entirely concealing the glint of annoyance in his eyes as she arrived late for the second consult in one day.

"Dr. Santiago," he said all too civilly. "Glad you could join us."

"Dr. McNamara." -- she sat by his side and glanced at the form resting on the table before them before addressing the couple -- "Mr. and Mrs. O'Hara."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, as she shook hands with Megan and Jim O'Hara and Sean walked the couple to the door, Grace was still trying to decide what to do. She wasn't sure that the breast implants Mrs. O'Hara was asking for were such a good idea, if not for any other reason than because she had just admitted that she was doing it for her husband.

"I want my wife back." Jim O'Hara's words still echoed in her ears and Grace involuntarily pursed her lips in annoyance. His wife was still there, for crying out loud, boobs or no boobs, something he might have figured out by himself if he hadn't been too busy keeping his feelings bottled up while she fought the cancer. She sighed roughly, feeling her frustration rise: if only she had more time to talk to them before giving her clinical opinion!…

Grace was so engrossed in her thoughts that she only noticed that Sean was back to her side when he called her name, his voice a tad less civil than it had been while the O'Haras were there:

"Dr. Santiago, can I have a word with you in my office?"

"Sure," she sighed. As she followed him to his office, Grace quickly evaluated her options. As quick as Dr. McNamara might be to endorse her opinions when they referred to his partners' patients, she somehow suspected that he wouldn't be so open-minded when it came to her evaluating his own patients. So the question here was, considering she had nothing but a twenty minute talk to back up her claims about Mrs. O'Hara's ineligibility for surgery, was she willing to cross Dr. McNamara when, one, she was already walking on thin ice, having cost the clinic one patient due to her failure to attend to her consult in the morning, and, two, her latest interplay with the other owning partner had left it clear that he wouldn't be taking her side either?

Sean stopped by the window and turned around to face her, not inviting her to take a seat. Well, at least it wouldn't take long.

"Dr. Santiago," he started again. "I understand you arrived at the clinic at 9 o'clock this morning."

It wasn't really a question, so Grace didn't bother to answer and just let him proceed.

"The receptionist told me that Miss Claymore was pretty upset when she left, and that she rejected her offer to schedule another consult."

Even through her discomfort, Grace couldn't help but notice with some annoyance that he hadn't referred to the receptionist by her name. _Fran. Her name is Fran. Even I know that, and I've been only working here for a few months._

"So I was told," Grace sighed. "And I'm awfully sorry about that. " -- she hesitated -- "Look, Dr. McNamara, I could explain my tardiness this morning, but it wouldn't actually justify it. It was a, hum, personal problem, and all I can say is that it won't happen again."

Sean didn't reply right away, and Grace noticed for the first time how weary he looked. There were thin lines of tension around his mouth, and he didn't look like he was getting much sleep lately.

Without a word, he walked back to his desk and sat on his chair before looking at her again.

"We all have our problems, Dr. Santiago," he said tiredly. "Next time I'd appreciate your calling us so that we can either reschedule your appointments or have someone cover for you."

He didn't say anything else and it took Grace a moment to realize that the talk was over. She almost asked if he was okay, if she could do anything to help but, quite frankly, she wasn't in the mood to be sociable, either, so she just nodded and turned around to leave the room.

"Dr. Santiago?" he called out just as she opened the door. "You didn't say anything about Mrs. O'Hara's consult," he said when she turned to him again. "I infer that you don't have anything to say against her request for surgery?"

"Personally," Grace said cautiously, "I don't think that breast implants are what she needs right now."

"And as a professional…?"

"I don't think it'll do her any more harm," she sighed.

* * *

Grace groaned as she closed the door to Sean's office behind her and proceeded towards her own office. She could feel a migraine coming her way. She felt tired and queasy. She spotted Christian coming down the corridor. _Somebody please shoot me._

To her relief, he walked straight past her without acknowledging her presence and went to knock on the door to Sean's office. She didn't say a word, either, and increased her pace slightly as she walked to her office, hoping she would just be able to stay there until it was time go home.

Christian kept his eyes on the door ahead of him as he walked past Grace, the steady rhythm of his footsteps never missing a beat, not even when he nearly brushed her arm with his as they walked past each other. Then, just as he stood before the door to his partner's office and raised his hand to knock on it, his head turned as if of its own will and he found himself staring at her retreating back, taking in the long, shapely legs, the gentle sway of her hips, the dark locks falling over shoulders that were raised a little too tight. Her entire body language spoke of tension, and for a moment he had the unexplainable wish to take her out of there and buy her a cup of coffee across the street. Then she walked around the corner and Christian found himself standing in a corridor that had suddenly become very hollow.

Shuddering, he brushed off the feeling and knocked on Sean's door. Without waiting for an answer, he opened it and peered inside; his friend was sitting behind his desk, staring out through the window with a forlorn look on his face. Christian frowned slightly: Sean seemed to be having that look rather often since Julia's miscarriage, but he didn't talk about it, and Christian didn't quite know how to bring up the subject.

"Hey," Christian said quietly, but it was enough to make Sean turn to him with a start.

"What? Oh," he uttered when he saw his friend standing at the doorway. "It's you."

"Of course it's me," Christian quipped with a small smile. "Everyone else is afraid to get near this broody face you're wearing."

"You seemed fine when I left," he added, giving his friend a look of feign reproach as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. "Can't I leave you unsupervised for a mere couple of hours?"

"Usually I'm the one saying that to you," Sean said with a faint smile. "So, have you pressed charges?" he asked before Christian could reply.

"They said that they'll be talking to her today," Christian said, nodding. "They may also want to talk to you and, uh… Dr. Santiago," -- he was taken aback by how easily Grace's first name had almost rolled off his tongue, but Sean didn't seem to notice it.

"Speaking of Dr. Santiago," Sean said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk. "Do you keep track of her working hours?"

"No," Christian said, puzzled. "Why?"

"Well, I don't, either. Did you know that she only showed up for work at 9 am today?" Sean asked. "She stood Mrs. Claymore up, and now I'm wondering whether it was just a one time lapse or if it's happened before and we just didn't notice."

"Not that I know," Christian said, shifting position on the chair. "Did you ask her what happened?"

"She said that she had some personal problem," Sean sighed, "and that it won't happen again."

"Well," Christian said warily, "you know that I'm not her biggest fan, but if she said so, and neither of us has actually seen her arrive late before, why don't you let this one pass, and start keeping a closer eye on her from now on?"

"Yes," Sean muttered, closing his eyes and lightly rubbing his temples, "I suppose you're right."

When he opened his eyes, he had that tired and slightly perplexed look again, and Christian forgot all about Grace and Miss Babcock as his worry about his friend rose once again. The truth was, between the two of them, deep down he had always thought of predictable, tidy Sean as the strong one. Because Sean was the rock, Christian could allow himself to flow adrift; if he ever felt that he was wandering too far, his friend's straight path would serve as reference for him to find the way back to his own path again. Seeing him look so hurt and lost was scarier than Christian cared to admit; in some odd way, though, it also made him feel strongly protective, like he usually would only feel about Matt or Annie.

"You don't look so good," Christian started to say. Sean snorted, giving him a weary smile, and he proceeded with a smirk: "Okay, you look like hell. Anyway, I've checked our agenda, and there's only one more consult scheduled for today. Why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

"No," Sean promptly said, shaking his head. "I don't want to, don't need to go home; I feel better when I'm keeping myself busy."

He glanced at his watch and stood up, knowing that Miss Berger would be arriving at any minute for her 2 pm consult.

"But thank you for asking," he said with a smile.

"Not a problem," Christian said, standing up, too, and lightly slapping Sean's shoulder as they left his office. "If you change your mind, just let me know."

* * *

"Hmmm…" the girl -- Kristy, Misty, whatever -- purred as she snuggled against Christian, and he had to fight the sudden, unexplainable urge to draw back from her.

"That was amazing…" she sighed contently.

"Yeah," he muttered noncommittally, keeping his eyes on the ceiling.

Christian just couldn't understand. The sex had indeed been great; the strawberry blonde currently lying on his bed was young and hot, and had been very willing to please him after he picked her up in a bar on his way back home. Then why was he feeling so utterly empty? She had touched him in all the right places and screamed at all the right moments. And yet, she felt… wrong. Even when he closed his eyes and ran his hands over her smooth, milky skin, she sounded wrong; she smelled wrong.

He felt her weight shift on the bed and the hand that had been caressing his chest started to sink lower. Before he even knew what he was doing, Christian's hand shot down and grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"Look," he said when she gave him a surprised look, "I have to wake up really early tomorrow: I don't think this would be a good idea."

He took notice of her disappointed look and flashed her the charming grin that was a second nature to him, adding:

"There's no way I'll be able to sleep early with you here to tempt me; I'm only human, you know."

She giggled, mollified, and he sat up on the bed, gently running a finger down her face as he said:

"I have your number; maybe next week we can get together again and I'll make it up for you."

Thirty minutes later, as the taxi that he had called for her arrived and he closed the door behind her, Christian looked at the piece of paper with her name and phone number written on it. He stared at the paper in his hand for a long time before letting out a tired sigh and crumpling it in a small ball that went straight to the trashcan.

* * *

The next day, Christian arrived at the clinic to find Officer Fishman waiting for him in the lobby.

"Dr. Troy," the police officer said after the two men shook hands, "is there a place where we can talk in private?"

"My office," Christian said, giving him an inquisitive look. "This way," he said when the other man didn't provide any more information.

"I suppose you want to talk to Dr. McNamara and Dr. Santiago," Christian said as Officer Fishman took a seat across the desk from him.

"Only if you think that they can give us information that will lead to other suspects."

"But I told you," Christian said, "Nanette Babcock…"

"Sir," the police officer said, "Miss Babcock is dead. She killed herself…" -- he checked his notes -- "three days after the first incident."

"She what??"

"Miss Babcock shot herself," Officer Fishman said again. "Whether or not it was she who trashed your car the first time, it definitely wasn't she who vandalized your house. And, Dr. Troy, if you ask my opinion, this kind of thing…" -- he cleared his throat -- "it usually hits a little closer to home. An ex-girlfriend, the ex of the current one, or…" -- he finally noticed the look on Christian's face and stopped mid-sentence -- "Dr. Troy, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Christian uttered. "I just… " -- he shook his head, flabbergasted -- "She killed herself."

"I'm sorry, Dr. Troy," Officer Fishman said, taken aback by Christian's reaction. "I just assumed… If I knew you'd be so shaken, I'd have prepared you first."

"That's, uh, that's okay," Christian stammered, struggling to put himself together again. "It just caught me off guard."

"I should be going," the police officer said awkwardly. "If you think of anyone else who might have…"

"I'll give you a call," Christian said, nodding his head.

He saw the other man stand up and started to stand, too, but the police officer held up his hand:

"Don't worry. I'll see myself out."

Officer Fishman left, closing the door behind him, and at first Christian just sat there, staring blankly at the wall across the room. He thought of Nanette's face, the look in her eyes when he said that he'd help her, and the knot forming in his throat grew tighter. He didn't even notice that his own eyes were welling until his vision became blurred with unshed tears. Nanette, too, had cried then, tears of happiness and gratitude when he told her that she'd be able to go to her high school reunion and for the first time not feel ashamed of herself. Grace was right about one thing: the girl had indeed looked at him like he was the knight in shining armor who had finally come to rescue her from the nightmare that her high school years had been.

Christian's face crumpled and he balled his right fist, pressing it to his mouth. She just wanted to go to that stupid reunion and for once not be laughed at; was it too much to ask? If he had put his foot down then, she would still be alive now.

Just then, the phone rang, bringing him back to the present with a start.

"What?" he barked as he picked up the receiver.

"Dr. Troy," the receptionist said, sounding slightly taken aback by his harsh tone, "Mr. Shane is here for his 9 am appointment, should I send him in?"

"No!" Christian said, alarmed. "I mean, uh…" -- he raised his hand to wipe the tears from his eyes, but remembered just in time that this would make them reddish and puffy, and quickly lowered his hand again -- "Tell him to wait for me in the lobby; I'll meet him there in a minute."

After he hung up the phone, Christian stood up and went straight to his private bathroom, where he washed his face, careful not to rub his eyes, gently patting his face with the towel to dry it off. He carefully watched his face in the mirror and, satisfied with what he saw, went greet Mike Shane in the lobby.

Christian had just left his office when he saw Grace coming down the corridor, walking straight towards him, and he felt his stomach churn. He knew that he couldn't avoid her forever, but right now just staying in the same room with her felt like more than he could take. Truth to be told, Grace herself didn't look thrilled with the idea, either, but the resolute look on her face showed that she was determined to go through that, and Christian almost gave in and stepped aside so that she could enter his office when he suddenly remembered something that Mr. Shane had mentioned when scheduling his appointment.

"Dr. Santiago, you can wait in your office and I'll send Mr. Shane over when we're finished here."

Grace stopped on her tracks, giving him a bewildered look.

"This way he'll have to answer the same questions twice," she said. "I'm free now, we can talk to him together and…"

"Mr. Shane case is of rather private nature," Christian said, cutting her off. "He specifically asked to be examined by a male doctor."

"Dr. Troy," she said coldly, "I'm a professional."

"You may be," he replied in the same tone. "But the patient is not."

"But I…"

"I said no," Christian said curtly, and Grace's eyes widened slightly when she heard the edge in his voice.

"Very well," she said in a deliberate, cold voice. "I'll be in my office, then."

She turned on her heels and walked back to her office, while Christian ran his hand roughly through his hair and went to meet his patient.

* * *

Christian sighed wearily as he closed the door and rested his head against it, after saying goodnight to Rainbow; at least this one had a name that was easy to remember. Then again, who named her child Rainbow, for God's sake? Hadn't anyone told the girl's parents that the '60s were over?

He turned away from the door with a grunt of frustration. Rainbow had a different kind of beauty from that of what's-her-name-isty from the night before, with copper skin and long raven hair that had caught his eye the moment he had walked into that bar, but she was just as gorgeous and even more enthused, if such a thing was possible. And yet, just like her predecessor, she had left him feeling empty and unsatisfied, yearning for something that he didn't even know what it was.

Christian started to walk back to his bedroom, but he changed his mind midway and headed to the kitchen instead. It also didn't help, he thought sullenly as he opened the fridge and took a beer bottle out of it, that his stalker had struck again, this time to trash his boat. The remembrance of his pride and joy smeared with pink paint, the word "ASSHOLE" written over the boat's name, made Christian grate his teeth, and he opened the bottle and brought it to his lips, taking a large gulp of beer.

He walked back to the living room with the bottle in his hand and his eyes fell on the address book still resting on the table. Christian sighed and let himself fall heavily on the couch, glaring at the book. He had spent a very unpleasant evening calling the women in that book before finally leaving for the bar where he had met Rainbow. Most of them weren't as angry or resentful as he had feared they might be; but the great majority of them hadn't exactly sounded thrilled to hear from him again, either. They had moved on, met new people, a few were happily married, and one of them had actually asked "I'm sorry, Christian who?" but of course she could have been feigning. Still, none of them had sounded like they were angry enough to trash his possessions. Well, none of them but one. Christian frowned as he thought of his earlier talk with Gina; little Miss Twelve Steps certainly needed to say her Serenity Prayer more often. He sullenly rolled the empty beer bottle between his hands, wondering if he should have recorded that phone talk to use it as proof. Finally, Christian placed the bottle on the table before him and stood up, heading to the bedroom; now it was too late to be sorry, and he'd have to wait and see if she'd try something else.

* * *

The next day started out on a promising note, and at the end of the morning, as Christian walked down the stairs that led to the clinic's garage, he was in a very good mood. First he had received a very friendly phone call from one of the girls on whose answering machine he had left a message the previous night. He remembered Kimber Henry very well: a rather sweet girl, whose out-and-out lack of brains was largely compensated by her stunning beauty. She had asked him to meet her at 11 am at her photo shoot, to which he had gladly agreed. Then, later that morning, he had done a consult for Cliff Mantegna, who wanted to get rid of his male breasts in time to attend to "The Scene", a swing party that apparently had quite a name among swingers; Christian had scheduled Mr. Mantegna's surgery and filed the party's name for further reference.

The down note of the day had been when he walked up to Grace in the corridor and she gave him a look that was enough to make the "good-morning" that had come to his lips die right away; she strode past him with but an acrid look, leaving him standing in the middle of the corridor, staring baffled at her retreating form. He shrugged off the unpleasant feeling that her cold shoulder had given him, though, refusing to let anything spoil his mood as he went to get his car and attend to his meeting with Kimber.

He arrived there at 10:50, and took his time watching her as she was photographed in a bikini that definitely suited her well. Christian grinned as he looked at her, making poses and flirting with the camera. She looked absolutely fantastic! He hadn't asked her out again after her surgery, and hadn't seen her since she left the clinic, still swollen and bandaged, and now he wondered if maybe he shouldn't have stuck around for a little longer. Who needed brains with a body like that? _You_, a little voice in the back of his mind answered. _Why do you think these dolls you have taken to your place lately haven't made you feel half as good as you felt with…_

"Christian!" -- Kimber's gleeful voice cut off his musings and rescued him from the dangerous ideas that nasty voice was trying to give him.

She threw her arms around his neck and Christian hugged her tight before pulling away to give her a better look.

"Kimber, you look amazing," he said, smiling at her. "You're…"

"A ten?" she asked coyly.

"An eleven," Christian said truthfully.

"Do you know what this is?" she asked, waving her hand and encompassing the entire photo shoot location.

"Hum…" -- he furrowed his brown in feign puzzlement -- "A photo shoot?"

She shoved his arm, making a face on him, and Christian smiled, pleasantly aware of the fact that she was still standing very close to him, one hand resting on his chest with seeming carelessness.

"It's my first cover," she announced proudly, and he arched his eyebrows, looking properly impressed.

"Kudos for you," he said, grinning. Before he could say anything else, though, a man with dark hair and a tanned complexion walked towards them from across the room.

"Kimber, we'll start shooting again in fifteen minutes," he said, placing his arm around her waist and not so subtly making her back away from Christian. "If you smear your makeup, we won't finish in time."

"Nico Scamarel," he said, turning to Christian with a smile that didn't get anywhere near his eyes. "I'm Kimber's manager… and her fiancé."

"Congratulations," Christian said without missing a beat. "I'm Dr. Christian Troy."

"Oh," Nico said, his smile widening, "the man with the golden knife! I suppose I should thank you," he added, his arm still wrapped possessively around Kimber.

Christian just smiled back at him, not sure of what the proper answer to a remark like that would be, and Nico proceeded:

"We may be paying you another visit soon."

Christian raised one eyebrow in questioning and he explained:

"You did a master job with her tits, now I think we should do a little something about her ass."

He stressed his point by smacking Kimber's butt, and Christian didn't fail to notice that her eyes sparked briefly with annoyance.

"You should give us a special price," Nico added, grinning, oblivious to his fiancée's irritation, "This one here is walking advertisement."

Before Christian could reply, someone called Nico across the room and he excused himself after shaking hands with Christian.

"So," Kimber said once Nico was out of ear's reach, "I know why I called you. Why did **_you_** call me? Nothing wrong with my insurance, I hope?"

"No," Christian said, smiling. "I've been doing some real soul searching lately and…" he started to recite the same monologue he had been using with all his exes, but something in Kimber's eyes stopped him.

"I treated you like shit," he said quietly, for the first time feeling actually sorry. "You deserved better. You still" -- he arched his eyebrows towards Nico -- "deserve better."

"Yes, I do," -- Kimber cocked her head to the side, giving him a cryptic look. "Any ideas?" she asked kittenishly.

What made Christian falter then, he couldn't explain for the life of him. It was just a couple of seconds, but it was enough for his cell phone to begin to buzz. Glancing at it, he saw the clinic's number on the dial, and smirked at Kimber, playfully rolling his eyes as he sighed:

"Work."

When he answered the phone, Fran said:

"Dr. Troy, Dr. McNamara is asking if you'll be at the clinic at 3 pm. Mrs. O'Hara will be back for another consultation and he wants to know if you can cover for him with Mr. Lake's consult."

"If you're asking me that," he said, "and being the competent lady I know you are, I assume you have already checked my agenda and I have nothing scheduled for today."

"Not for 3 pm, you don't," Fran replied. "But you and Dr. McNamara have Mrs. Renard's surgery at 4 pm. Also, Mr. Shane from yesterday called a little while ago and I scheduled him another consult for 2 pm."

"All right then," Christian said, "tell Dr. McNamara…" -- his stomach churned when the reference to Mike Shane sank in and all the pieces came together. "Oh, shit!" he exclaimed, smacking his forehead. He was supposed to have sent the guy over to Grace's office after yesterday's consult! He had completely forgotten about that, and now she most certainly thought that he had done it on purpose, what with their previous fight.

"Dr. Troy?…" Fran asked, confused.

"I'm sorry, Fran," Christian quickly apologized, gathering his wits again. "I was…" -- he sighed, running his hand across his face -- "Never mind. Just tell Dr. McNamara that I'll be there."

"What happened?" Kimber asked, puzzled, after he hung up.

"Nothing," he sighed. Except that it wasn't nothing. It was a lot, even if he didn't understand why it was upsetting him so much. The look on Grace's face as he had shut her out of Mr. Shane's consult flashed in his mind, making him wince. She had been questioning the value of her work at the clinic and the little time she got to spend with the patients she was supposed to evaluate, and then he had gone and boycotted her. Not to mention the fact that he had previously accused her of not handling Nanette Babcock's case professionally. That line of thought reminded him of Nanette's fate, and that only made Christian feel worse.

He looked at Kimber, staring at him with perplexed eyes, and reached out to gently touch her face:

"I have to go back to the clinic, sweetheart. I'll see you around."

He hesitated, then added:

"Take care. And, Kimber, don't let anyone ever tell you that you're anything less than an eleven."

He turned around and left quickly, failing to see Kimber's shocked look turn into one of anger.

* * *

When Christian arrived at the clinic, Grace wasn't there; she had taken a late lunch hour, and went straight to Sean's office when she arrived, to interview a patient with him. Christian only got a glimpse of her later, while he was entering the scrub room, but she walked straight past him without as much as looking at him, and he sighed heavily and went to prepare for the surgery.

Contrary to what both surgeons had expected, Mrs. Renard's surgery turned out to be a rather complex one, and it took much longer than any of them could have anticipated. It was almost 8 pm when Christian hurried down the corridor, glancing at his watch and deciding that he wouldn't have time to go home and shower if he was to arrive on time for his date. "Third time is a charm," he muttered to himself, wanting to believe that this date wouldn't leave him as frustrated as the previous ones had, and also ignoring the obvious reasoning that, for someone who was likely to being stalked by a scorned ex, he was being rather dutiful in adding more suspects to the list.

"NO!!"

Christian stopped on his tracks and peered into the break room at the sound of Liz's cry of dismay.

"What happened?" he asked when he saw her standing before the coffee machine.

"It's broken!" she cried out, slamming her hand on top of the machine. Christian raised a questioning eyebrow and she proceeded angrily: "All I could think during the last thirty minutes of that bloody surgery was the nice cup of cappuccino I was going to have as soon as I left the OR. I've been on my feet for almost four hours, craving for a cup of steamy coffee and now…" -- she caught sight of his amused expression and glared at him -- "Don't you dare say anything, you with your bloody damn Yoplaits!"

Just then, Linda entered the room, making a beeline for the coffee machine.

"I could kill for a cup of…"

"It's broken," Liz curtly informed the nurse.

"What!!!"

"You know," Christian said, giving the two women a critical look, "you people should really consider switching to decaf."

The two women turned to him, shooting daggers with their eyes, and it suddenly occurred to Christian that he was outnumbered there. He heard Sean's footsteps coming down the corridor and decided that he didn't want to be in the same room with three deprived coffee-aholics.

"I have a date," he said before hastily leaving the room. On his way to the lobby he could hear his partner's voice coming from the break room:

"What do you mean, it's broken???"

* * *

Christian sat at the bar, a smile plastered on his face while his date's gibberish went right over his head. Try as he might, he just couldn't focus on what the girl was saying -- not that she seemed to care: the redhead sitting by his side seemed to love the sound of her own voice more than anything else in the word.

Then the idea hit him, so simple that he just couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of it before.

"Brittany, do you like coffee?"

"… and I was like, oh really?, and she was like, oh yes, and… What?" -- Brittany blinked, confused, when his words sank in.

"Do you like coffee?" Christian patiently repeated.

"Sure," she said, smiling. "I love coffee. Just the other day I was…"

"If you wanted to buy a cup of coffee," Christian said, gently placing his hand on top of hers and cutting her off, "really good coffee, where would you go?"

"Starbucks," she said without hesitation.

"Right," he said, nodding his head. "And what would you buy? Just plain black coffee?"

"Well…" -- she bit her lip, pondering the idea -- "It depends. I usually go for the House Blend."

"What if you didn't want to go for the usual?" Christian asked. "If you wanted to buy yourself a real nice treat?"

"Hmmmmm…" she purred, closing her eyes as if she was already tasting it. "Italian Roast."

"Italian Roast," he repeated, mindfully. "From Starbucks."

"Yes."

Brittany's smile was replaced by a look of utter astonishment when Christian leaned forward and placed a light kiss on her cheek, saying:

"Thank you very much, Brittany."

Then he stood up and left, watched by the dumbfounded girl.

* * *

Grace entered the break room and carelessly threw her purse on the table as she walked past it and headed straight to the coffee machine. It took her a couple of seconds to register what her eyes were seeing: "Broken," said the note attached to the machine.

"Oh, no," she uttered, dismally. "No."

Grace felt like she could just sink to her knees and cry: she had a consult in twenty minutes, it was raining cats and dogs outside and she just **_needed_** a cup of coffee.

"Oh no no no no no…"

The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit her even before she saw the cup resting on the counter, beside the coffee machine. Then she saw the hand that had just placed the cup there and the male arm to which said hand belonged.

Grace warily glanced to her side and her eyes finally met the blue ones that were staring expectantly at her.

"The machine broke last night," Christian said. She didn't reply and he proceeded: "Sean has already called maintenance, but it should still take a while. Everyone else has either brought their own coffee or bought it across the street."

Motioning with his chin toward the cup that she still hadn't touched, he added:

"It's, uh, Italian Roast."

Without a word, Grace looked from him to the cup from where the tempting aroma of the flavored coffee was coming. Finally, her craving for coffee took the best of her, and she silently took the cup in her hands and walked to the table.

"Thanks," she muttered as she sat down and glanced at Christian, who was standing before her with his hands in his pockets.

"Look, about yesterday…" -- he cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other -- "it was an honest mistake. I swear; I had every intention of sending Mr. Shane over to your office, but it slipped off my mind at the last minute."

She just kept staring at him, the cup of coffee resting on the table between them, and Christian proceeded:

"As for Tuesday…" -- he swallowed hard -- "I was completely out of line. I felt angry and, hum, violated, and I acted like a jerk, taking it on you. I'm terribly sorry," he finished with a sigh. "Really."

After what felt like an eternity for him, Grace finally sighed and gingerly took the cap off the cup, saying with her eyes on her coffee:

"So am I. Don't get me wrong," she quickly added, raising her head to give him a stern look, "you did act like a jerk. **_But_**," she added grudgingly, "I could have handled it better instead of lashing out back at you."

"So…" he said, watching her warily, "does it mean that we're good?"

"I guess," she sighed, shrugging and giving him a look that he didn't quite know how to interpret.

"Okay."

After a few awkward seconds, during which neither one said anything, Christian reached into the inner pocket of his suit and drew out a small bag with Lindt's logomark on it.

"The lady in the store said you'd like some of those with your coffee," he said, placing it on the table next to her cup.

"Truffles!" Grace shrieked gleefully, eagerly reaching out for the bag. "Uh, I mean," she said, hastily sobering as she realized her lapse one second too late, "thanks."

She saw his amused expression and rolled her eyes, embarrassed.

"Just sit there and have one," she muttered, grouchily, and Christian took the seat before her, grinning as he took one truffle out of the bag.

He watched with a smile as she drank a large swallow of her coffee before placing the cup back on the table with a contented sigh.

"What?" she asked when she met his gaze, giving him an intrigued look.

"Nothing," Christian started to say. "I mean…" -- he hesitated, looking down at his fingers while lightly tapping them on the table.

"Actually, there's more," he finally admitted, raising his eyes to face her again. "What I said to you the other day, about the way you acted on Miss Babcock's case… It wasn't just rude and out of place; it also wasn't true. I'm sure that you were acting on what you thought was her best interest; I may not always agree with your medical opinions, but I know that you care about the patients."

Surprised, Grace took a moment to silently acknowledge his words before she replied quietly:

"Well, what I said then wasn't true, either. I never thought that you were just using her to feel good about yourself; I know that you truly wanted to help her."

Christian winced and, misinterpreting his reaction, Grace insisted:

"I was there, too, Christian. You were happy for her, anyone could see that; and there's nothing wrong in feeling good about doing something nice for another person."

She hesitated, toying with the cap of her cup before adding uneasily:

"But I acted like a bitch."

Despite her discomfort, Grace smiled when she saw Christian's eyebrows shoot up.

"Well, I did," she sighed, sobering again. "I sustain what I said then, that Miss Babcock shouldn't undergo surgery, but she was your patient and I should never have gone straight to Dr. McNamara instead of talking to you first. And I should have insisted that we talked to her together; turning her down wasn't your decision, but in the end you were the one who was left to tell her the bad news and face her disappointment."

Christian didn't reply; instead, he just stared back at her, dumbfounded by her unexpected acknowledgment of his rather distressful experience. He was brought back to the present as she spoke again:

"And now she's taking it all on you."

"Actually," Christian said, shuffling his feet, "the police has already ruled her out as a suspect."

"Really?" Grace asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"I thought you didn't believe it was her doing."

"Well," Grace said, shrugging, "I gave the idea some thought once I cooled down, and Miss Babcock certainly harbors a lot of repressed anger. When I was at her apartment…"

"You went to her house?" Christian asked, surprised.

"Didn't Dr. McNamara tell you that? After she trashed your car, I…"

"Grace, she could have hurt you," he exclaimed without thinking. "She was unstable then, and she had the gun and…"

"What gun?" Grace asked, confused, cutting him off.

Christian snapped his mouth shut when he realized what he had just said, but the damage had already been done.

"What gun?" Grace asked again. Her eyes widened up slightly as she asked warily: "Christian, why havethe police ruled out Miss Babcock as a suspect?"

"She shot herself a few days after the first incident," Christian admitted with a sigh.

When he saw all color drain from Grace's face, he wanted to kick himself for his clumsiness.

"Grace…" he started to say, instinctively reaching out across the table and placing his hand over hers.

"Oh, God," she uttered, staring blankly ahead.

She absently brought both hands to her face, and Christian retreated his own hand and straightened up on his chair, trying to ignore the warm feeling that the touch of her soft skin had brought him during that brief moment.

"Oh God," Grace murmured again.

"Look," Christian tried again, "I know that…"

"No, you don't," she hoarsely cut him off. He stiffened and she proceeded in a gentler tone: "Christian, I'm sure that you're feeling awful for her, but just imagine how you'd feel if she had killed herself because you had indeed operated her and she had come out of the OR looking like the Elephant Man."

She ran a shaking hand through her hair and Christian noticed, alarmed, that her eyes were welling.

"It was my job to evaluate her mental state and provide a clinical opinion that would allow you to give her the best treatment. It was the only damn thing I was supposed to do," she said bitterly, "and not only did I fail to do that, but I also pushed the patient over the edge!"

"I should never have accepted this position," she muttered in distress, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead. "I'm not the right person for this job."

"Of course you are!" Christian hastily protested, at the same time shutting out any attempts of his mind to investigate the reason why the perspective of Grace's quitting the job was so disturbing.

She gave him a confused look, as surprised by his vehemence as he was, but Christian noticed with relief that the threat of tears was gone, at least for the time being.

"It's not you," he proceeded. "It's the way we've been working, you, me and Sean: you don't have enough information about the patients, and you don't get too spend enough time with them, and Sean and I have failed to stress to them the importance of your work in their treatment as a whole."

"**_You_** are talking about the importance of my work?" Grace repeated, only half joking. "Okay, now you're starting to scare me."

Christian half glared at her and, after a brief moment of tension, they both burst out in chuckling.

"I have absolutely no idea of what the hell your work consists of," he admitted with a sheepish smile. But," he added, sobering, "I can assure you that Nanette Babcock is just the tip of the iceberg in the long line of mentally and emotionally unstable patients who have come to this clinic over the last fifteen years. And it's become clear by now that Sean and I have no qualifications to deal with them."

He took a deep breath and proceeded, leaning slightly forward and looking into her eyes:

"We need your help here. I don't know if you're gonna talk to the patients, show them inkblots or even read their fate in a dead sheep's guts, but I know for sure that you're more qualified to deal with them than Sean and I will ever be."

Grace didn't look convinced and Christian insisted:

"I have more character misjudgments under my belt than I could tell you in just one morning and, trust me, Sean is just a little bit smarter than I am."

Grace was only partially successful in biting back a smile, and Christian gave her a sheepish grin as he proceeded:

"We can make this work; I know we can. All we need is some ground rules, so that we all know where we're standing."

Just as Grace opened her mouth to reply, Liz stuck her head through the door, shooting Christian a sardonic look as she asked:

"Christian, will you honor us with your presence at the OR or should Sean and I start the surgery without you?"

If she was surprised to find him and Grace sitting in the same room without any signs of bloodshed or broken bones, Liz's face didn't show it. She acknowledged Grace's presence with a nod and a friendly "good-morning" and went back to the OR after making sure that Christian would follow suit.

Christian made a face towards the now empty doorway, letting out an aggravated sigh once he knew that Liz was safely out of ear reach and stood up. Before he left, he turned to Grace again and asked, hesitantly:

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"Yes," she said quietly, nodding her head. "You?"

Acting out of instinct, Christian opened his mouth to give her a noncommittal answer and a charming grin, but he found himself telling her the truth instead:

"About Nanette Babcock, no, I don't think so. Not yet, anyway. But I'll have to live with that."

"We both will," Grace said, giving him a sad smile. She hesitated, then added gently: "We're gonna do a better job with the next one. If not for any other reason than because we owe it to Miss Babcock."

"So," Christian said, cocking his head to the side and giving her an intent look, "does that mean you're not gonna quit while I'm busy in the OR?"

"No," she said with a smirk.

"Good," he said, nodding.

Christian hesitated, as if to say something else, then he just smiled briefly at her and went to meet the rest of the team in the OR. Grace watched as he left and just sat there for a while, looking at the doorway with a thoughtful expression.

Finally, she sighed and turned her attention back to her coffee; she finished it and picked up the bag of truffles before she left to her own office to wait for the first interview of the day. As she and Christian walked in opposite directions, both felt their hearts lighter than they had been for the past few days, the sadness over their feelings for Nanette Babcock mixed with a new, warm feeling that they didn't quite understand, but that they were also very keen to harbor.


	4. Chapter 4

"Mrs. Walsh, tell me what you don't like about yourself."

Grace watched with interest as Christian talked to Gloria Walsh, a woman in her late forties who had checked the "divorced" box on her application form, but who still touched her ring finger every now and then, subconsciously rubbing the spot where her wedding band used to be every time she got uneasy. Grace took her eyes off Mrs. Walsh to glance at Christian's notes: he was working quickly as the patient talked, outlining the flaws she was pointing out and the changes she wanted to make. Deep furrows around her mouth, baggy eyelids, crow's feet… Grace turned her attention back to the other woman's face, more specifically to what seemed to be a birthmark on her chin, a small shade resembling a half moon. Nothing that would by itself require plastic surgery, yet it struck her as odd that a woman who was pretty much remodeling her entire face wouldn't ask to have that birthmark removed as well.

"Is that all?" Christian asked when Mrs. Walsh stopped talking, and Grace noticed that he had drawn a small half moon close to the chin of the outlined face, with an interrogation mark next to it.

"Yes," Mrs. Walsh said quietly, her crossed hands resting on her lap.

"Mrs. Walsh," Grace chimed in, "have you discussed this surgery with anyone? Family, friends…" -- she hesitated slightly -- "… boyfriend?"

"No," Mrs. Walsh said tersely, her right thumb starting to lightly rub the base of her index finger.

"I see," Grace said, nodding. "You know, sometimes it helps to listen to…"

"I have listened for twenty five years," the other woman cut her off edgily. "I've put myself on hold for twenty five years; for twenty five years I… " -- she sniffed and Christian perked up, alarmed -- "I just want to…" -- her voice cracked and Grace promptly took a tissue out of the box sitting on Christian's desk and handed it to her, ignoring Christian's horrified what-have-you-done look.

While Grace coaxed the older woman to talk about her messy divorce, her workaholic daughter, the two-year-old grandson whom she almost never sees, Christian looked from one woman to the other, wondering why in the bloody blue hell Grace had opened such a can of worms. But he had said that he'd give her space to work, so, true to his words, he just sat there and silently watched the interplay between the two women.

Christian soon realized that, by turning his chair slightly to the right and leaning back on it, he could gaze at Grace and still look like he was paying attention to Mrs. Walsh's babbling. It wasn't long before he lost track of their talk, and when the gentle pressure of the sole of Grace's foot upon his brought him back from a very pleasant reverie about a certain birthmark that he had previously discovered on her own body, he was relieved to see that Mrs. Walsh's eyes were dry albeit a little puffy, and that she was smiling.

"… mostly indoor work," Mrs. Walsh was saying, "so it won't be a problem if my face is still swollen and bruised. But the art exhibit opening will take place in two months, and I'd like to be there for Miriam. Do you think that I'll look fine by then, Dr. Troy?" she asked, turning to Christian.

"Absolutely," Christian said without missing a beat, even as he wondered who Miriam was.

"Wonderful," she said, beaming. "So, can we schedule it?"

"Sure," Christian said, standing up. "If you follow me to the lobby, I'll have my secretary schedule a date at your convenience."

"Okay," Mrs. Walsh said as she and Grace stood up, too. "And, Dr. Santiago," she said, turning to Grace with a grateful smile, "thank you so much."

"You're welcome," Grace, smiling back at her.

"Is there a chance…" -- the older woman hesitated -- "I mean, could I… can I have another consultation with you before the surgery?"

Christian sensed Grace's hesitation -- she normally didn't get to see the patients again after the first interview -- and quickly answered on her behalf:

"Fran keeps track of Dr. Santiago's agenda as well," he said, gently leading Mrs. Walsh to the door. "Just tell her that you want to schedule another consultation with her alone."

Grace raised her eyebrows inquisitively at him behind Mrs. Walsh's back and couldn't help but smile when he gave her his most innocent look and then moved to open the door for Mrs. Walsh with a charming smile.

- x x x x x x x x x x -

"Was it too obvious that I wasn't paying attention in the end?" Christian asked once he and Grace were out of ear reach, having said good-bye to Mrs. Walsh in the lobby.

"Only because I was half expecting you not to be," Grace assured him with a smile. "I don't think she noticed, or I'd have stepped on your foot earlier. By the way," she added, entering the break room as he opened the door for her, "thank you for backing me up even when you didn't know where I was going."

"You're welcome," Christian said, following her into the room. "So, will you now tell me what that was all about?"

"Oh, you know," she said offhandedly, sitting at the table, "just standard hocus pocus."

Christian stopped in the process of opening the fridge and eyeballed her, and she added, grinning:

"Sorry. I just couldn't help it."

"Peach or lemon, smart aleck?" he asked with a smirk, showing her the two Ice Tea cans.

"Peach, please."

Christian handed her a can of Ice Tea and a plastic cup, and popped a can open for himself before he sat across the table from her, giving her an inquisitive look.

"I was wondering why Mrs. Walsh didn't ask you to remove that birthmark on her chin," Grace explained, sobering, "and it occurred to me that, unlike the other things that she wanted you to fix, that birthmark has nothing to do with her age. Mrs. Walsh doesn't want to look like any twenty-year-old woman; she wants to look like **_herself_** at the age of twenty. This surgery isn't as much about being beautiful as it is about being young."

"So what?" Christian said, shrugging. "Most women of her age come here wanting to get their youth back."

"Except that you can't give it back to them," Grace pointed out.

"Excuse me?" he said, arching his eyebrows.

"You can make them **_look_** young, Christian," Grace said, "but you can't make them actually **_be_** young again. Mrs. Walsh has reached a point in her life where she is looking back and wondering where the last twenty-five years have gone," she explained. "Her husband has left her for another woman, she can't seem to connect to her only daughter, she doesn't have a career, or a hobby, or a purpose in life whatsoever."

She took a sip of her Ice Tea and proceeded:

"What she wants -- and no plastic surgery can give her -- is to be twenty again, to be young and bold, feeling that anything is possible and that her entire life lies ahead of her."

"Then I guess she's in for some major disappointment," Christian muttered.

Grace blinked and watched him intently, his dark tone not going unnoticed by her.

"Not necessarily," she said gently. "She's not so old that she can't restart her life. She has a degree in Business Administration, and a sister who owns an art gallery who has offered her partnership once. Her relationship with her daughter isn't so strained that it can't be mended. And," she added with a smile, "this surgery will be good for her self-esteem."

"So, the surgery will help, after all?" he said, cocking one eyebrow.

"She needs something that will serve as benchmark," Grace said, "something that says 'this is the point where my life takes a turn'. And just because I, personally, would have settled with a new haircut, it doesn't mean that she shouldn't find her own way to celebrate the beginning of her new life. As long as she doesn't see this surgery -- or anything else for the matter -- as the magic formula that will give her back everything that she's lost during the last twenty five years, and if she starts taking some tangible measures to change her life and not just her looks…" -- she smiled and raised her cup of Ice Tea in a good-humored toast -- "I say, go for it, girl."

Christian chuckled slightly, while she brought her cup to her lips and drank the rest of the Ice Tea.

"This consultation turned out to be longer than usual, though," Grace commented, resting the cup on the table again. "Is this a problem?"

"Not really," Christian said. "I only have another consult in…" -- he checked his watch -- "twenty minutes. Will you be there?"

"No," she said, looking slightly disappointed. "Sean and I will be interviewing another patient at the same time."

"You know," Christian said, leaning back on his chair, "there's no real reason why Sean and I should be giving consults at the same time. It's too late now to reschedule these two patients, but I'll talk to Fran and tell her not to schedule two consultations at the same time again."

"Won't it be any trouble?" Grace asked.

"I can talk to the patients while Sean is operating and vice versa. Unless, of course, you'd rather talk to them alone."

"Not wanting to sound greedy," she said with a smirk, "I'd rather have the best of both worlds: I'd love to have some time alone with the patients like I'm gonna do with Mrs. Walsh, but I also find it very enlightening to watch their interaction with you and Dr. McNamara."

"That can be arranged," Christian said with a smile. "We can tell Fran to schedule your one-on-one consultations forwhen Sean and I are operating together."

"That'll be great," she said, smiling back at him. "Also…" -- she paused, giving him a tentative look -- "while we're at it, is it okay if I schedule yet another consultation with the patients after the surgery?"

"You mean, like a follow up?"

"Exactly."

"Well…" -- Christian hesitated -- "Are you sure you can squeeze that many extra consultations in your schedule?"

"I can handle it," she said, nodding. "Trust me."

"I do," he said without thinking. The weight of his words hit them both at the same time, and there was an awkward silence until Christian cleared his throat and said: "I'll have to talk to Sean first, but I don't think he'll have a problem with that."

"Thank you," Grace said.

They finished their Ice Teas in silence and then Christian asked out of the blue:

"Have you ever watched a surgery?"

"Uh… I had an impacted wisdom tooth extracted when I was seventeen," she said, tilting her head to the side and giving him a puzzled look. "Does that count?"

"Not really," he said with a smile.

Grace gave him an inquisitive look and he explained:

"When we hired Dr. Pendleton -- the guy who preceded you in this job -- Sean suggested that he watch a surgery; he thought it might help Pendleton understand the context in which…" -- Christian sighed theatrically and waved his hand in the air -- "yada yada yada, lots of big words, I'm sure you get the picture."

"I do," Grace said, giggling. "And if you're afraid that I'm gonna faint at the sight of blood…"

"Pendleton did."

"Well, I won't," she stated. "I took First Aid training, CPR and AED. I once applied a tourniquet to the nearly severed arm of a guy who had been bitten by a moray eel: I can assure you that blood doesn't freak me out."

"Okay," Christian said, shooting her a wary look, "I'm gonna skip the part where I ask why on Earth you would want to learn how to use an automated external defibrillator -- or any kind defibrillator for that matter -- and just ask where did you find a freaking moray eel."

"In Key Largo," Grace said. She smiled, almost hearing the little wheels spinning in his head as comprehension dawned in his eyes. "Yep, I do scuba diving."

"You do scuba diving," he said, fascinated. Her smile widened and he realized that his stunned expression probably looked rather silly. "I'm sorry," he added with a sheepish grin, "you just never struck me as the scuba diving kind."

"Well," she said, good-naturedly, "I am."

Grace glanced at her watch and realized with surprise that twenty minutes had passed since the end of Mrs. Walsh's consultation. "Our patients must be here by now," she said, unwillingly standing up and picking up the empty Ice Tea can and her cup.

"Right," Christian said as he, too, stood up. "After I talk to mine," he said while they threw the cans and the cups in the trashcan, "I'll make sure Fran schedules him for a consultation with you."

"Thanks," Grace said, as they left the break room. She spotted Sean talking to a young woman who she presumed was their 3 pm consultation, and increased her pace to catch up with them, while Christian went to the lobby to see if his patient was already there.


	5. Chapter 5

First of all, thank you to all of you who have been reviewing. To those who were already Christian/Grace shipers, I'm so glad to meet you: before I started this story I was afraid I was the only one out there. And to those who weren't, I'm flattered that I have captured your interest.

Also, a huge thanks to Michelle, who transcripted the missing scenes from the "Montana/Sassy/Justice" episode. I know it's a little early for these scenes, since the storyline should now be somewhere between episodes 6 (Megan O'Hara) and 7 (Cliff Mantegna). Still, mine is a parallel universe, so I figured I might as well use them now anyway.

- x x x x x x x x x x -

Twenty minutes later, five-year-old Riley Sullivan was sitting contentedly on the floor of Christian's office, with some blank sheets of paper and a box of crayons, while across the room his foster parents talked with Christian about reconstructive surgery for him.

"Riley came to live with us 4 years ago," said George Wood, one of Riley's fathers. "We got a 911 call saying that a kid had taken a fall; we knew then and there that there was more to it because of the bruises, so after we took him to the emergency room we called Children's Services."

The mention of Children's Services made Christian shuffle his feet in mild discomfort, but he brushed off the feeling and concealed his uneasiness, politely nodding his head as he listened to Mr. Wood.

"Took one look at Riley and knew that we had to have him," added Mark Gates, Mr. Wood's life partner and Riley's other father. "Children's Services was skeptical at first, but the fact that I'm a registered Nurse and George has been an EMT driver for over 12 years…" -- he sighed and smiled lovingly at the boy -- "well, they finally let us have him."

"Let's take a look, then," Christian said, smiling at them.

He stood up and moved from his desk to where Riley was, industriously working on a jungle scene that included lots of monkeys, a lion and, oddly, a dinosaur.

"Hi," Christian said, sitting on the floor by the boy's side and smiling at him.

Riley didn't answer, but smiled sheepishly back at Christian and moved a little to the side, making room for him. He was a quiet child with big brown eyes and an earnest smile that even the harelip couldn't tarnish.

"Do you mind if I poke around a bit?" Christian asked. "I promise I will be careful."

With Riley's permission, he carefully ran his fingers over the slit that went from the boy's upper lip almost to his left nostril. Then he tipped Riley's chin, making him look up, and asked him to open his mouth. Christian peered into the boy's mouth, confirming his initial suspicion that he also had a cleft palate: a longitudinal fissure went across the roof of the mouth and impaired his speech.

"We want to get it done before Riley starts school," Mr. Gates said. "You know how kids are when someone is different."

Christian winced slightly at his words, causing Riley to give him a curious look.

"Yeah," he muttered, keeping his eyes on the boy's mouth.

He avoided eye contact with the two men as he retracted his hands and thanked Riley for his cooperation, ruffling the boy's hair before turning to his parents again, a smile back on his face as he said:

"Okay, let's do it. We can schedule Riley right away."

"Is this a very complicated procedure?" Mr. Wood asked.

"Not at all," Christian said. "Here, let me show you." Then, turning to Riley again: "Can I borrow a piece of paper?"

He smiled when Riley nodded his agreement and handed him a piece of paper and a crayon.

"Oh, purple!" Christian said with a wide grin. "My favorite color. Thank you."

He was rewarded with a soft giggle from the child's part, and he returned to his desk, where he deftly sketched a figure showing how he'd fix Ridley's mouth, all the while explaining the procedure to Mr. Gates and Mr. Wood. Once they were satisfied, he reached out for the phone to ask for the forms that they would need to sign.

"What's your health insurance company?" Christian asked while he dialed the receptionist's number.

"Medicaid," Mr. Gates said.

"Oh," Christian's face fell when he heard that. "I'm sorry," he said, sorrowfully putting down the receiver, "we don't take Medicaid."

"Don't worry," Mr. Wood quickly said, "we'll come up with the money somehow."

"Mr. Wood," Christian said gently, "this is a very expensive procedure."

"We'll come up with money," Mr. Wood declared confidently.

"Well, then I think we're all set," Christian said with a smile, reaching out for the phone again.

"Actually, " Mr. Gates said, stopping him, "Child Welfare has to approve it. You see, we're just his foster parents."

"Then I'm not sure how I can help?" Christian said, giving them an inquisitive and slightly upset look.

"We're sure that if you explain to them about the surgery, they'll agree to it," Mr. Wood said. "They call it elective surgery," he explained.

Despite his self-control, Christian stiffened, the idea of dealing with Children's Services sending a cold, nasty shiver down his spine.

"I'm afraid I can't help you," he said tersely, fumbling with the papers resting on his desk.

"It won't take long, Dr. Troy," Mr. Wood assured him, "it's just a…"

"Mr. Wood," Christian abruptly cut him off, forcing himself to look the other man in the eye, "I have a very busy schedule. I can't just…"

"… take the time to help a child?" Mr. Wood said edgily.

Christian's jaw tightened as he stared back at the other man, feeling a tight knot forming in his throat. His rational mind told him that this was nothing to fret about, that he'd only have to meet some overworked social worker and talk them into signing the consent form, but another part of him recoiled in horror at the prospect of having any business with Children's Services ever again.

"Mr. Wood," he said tightly, "if you can get an authorization from Children's Services, I'll be glad to…"

"Don't you think we've tried?" Mr. Wood snapped. "Don't you think we've already done everything in our power to get our child this surgery? Trust me, Dr. Troy," he said, his voice wavering slightly -- "I'm not asking you to do this just because I don't wanna waste my precious time going there and talking to them."

When Christian didn't reply, Mr. Wood finally sighed and said, his shoulders slumping in defeat:

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience; for some reason, I believed that you would care. Have a good day, Dr. Troy."

Christian watched, stricken, as the two men stood up in silence. They called Riley and the boy followed them to the door; then, just as they were leaving, Mr. Gates stopped and turned to Christian again, asking:

"Do you have any children, Dr. Troy?"

"No, I don't," Christian replied quietly. "But I'm an uncle," he added, his expression brightening as he spoke of Matt and Annie.

The glint of pride in his eyes faded quickly, though, as Mr. Gates said, shaking his head:

"It's not the same thing. When you have a child, take one in," -- his voice cracked a little and he placed his hand on Riley's head, lovingly fondling the boy's hair -- "it's like you trade in a piece of your heart for a bigger one."

"Good-bye, Dr. Troy," he said quietly. "Thank you for your time."

He opened the door and Mr. Wood silently walked through it, followed by Riley. Before he left, though, the boy stopped at the doorway and, turning to Christian again, waved good-bye at him, giving him a timid smile. Then Mr. Gates placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and gently led him out, closing the door after them.

- x x x x x x x x x x -

The next day was a rainy Saturday that did nothing to lift Christian's spirit. He found himself wandering aimlessly around his apartment, zapping dully for some time before finally turning off the TV, exasperated by the lack of anything worth watching, then wandering some more and eventually turning on the TV again. It was like everywhere he looked he could see Riley's trusting eyes, and Christian was starting to seriously consider the idea of getting mighty stoned when he eventually came across the piece of paper where he had written the information about "The Scene". After pondering the idea for a while, he called one of his female acquaintances and asked her out for a drink, hoping to talk her into being his date for the party. It didn't fill that pesky newly found emptiness inside him, but at least it kept him busy for the rest of the day and also part of Sunday, and he eventually made it through the weekend and to Monday morning.

He was in a very sullen mood when he walked into the clinic that morning, though, and after a moment of hesitation he made a detour to the break room instead of going straight to his office. Not because he hoped Grace would be there, of course, but because he wanted the Nougat Bar that he had left in the fridge.

From the hallway he could hear Grace and Liz guffawing, and Christian found himself smiling, the ringing of Grace's laughter doing a better job of cheering him up than anything else he had tried during the previous weekend.

He was taken aback when the laughter ceased abruptly the moment the two women saw him standing at the doorway, even if there was no hostility in the looks they gave him; in fact, they looked more like schoolgirls caught passing notes in class.

"What?" he asked warily, looking from one woman to the other.

His uneasiness grew when Liz tried to answer him but only managed to produce a snickering sound before she hastily covered her mouth with her hand. That almost made Grace burst into a fit of giggles again, and Christian shuffled his feet, suddenly feeling extremely self-conscious and slightly annoyed.

"Girl talk," Grace finally managed to utter, but even the fact that seeing her all blushed and flustered like that had sent a nice, fuzzy feeling through Christian's body wasn't enough to mollify him and make him forget that he wasn't in control now. And he was supposed to be in control. Always.

"**_Girl_** talk?" he snipped, looking at Grace and then looking around in feigned confusion, pretending to search the room and ostensibly ignoring Liz.

Even as he made a big show of wondering who the other girl in the room was, with the corner of his eye he saw Liz stand up with a loud, exasperated sigh, almost knocking her chair to the floor.

"I'll catch up with you later," she stiffly told Grace before leaving the room without a second look to Christian.

When Christian's eyes met Grace's again, he winced a little at the disapproval he saw there.

"What?" he asked again, a little flippantly because he couldn't sound as careless as he'd have liked.

"What was that?" she asked.

"What was what?" he asked, and when she shot him an impatient look he said, shrugging as he entered the room and went to get his Nougat: "You mean, the thing with Liz? Oh, please, that was nothing."

"You insulted her," she said, her irritation growing as he turned his back to her to pick up the candy bar. "That wasn't 'nothing': it was rude, and mean, and totally uncalled for."

"Should I remind you that you've only been working here for a few months?" Christian snapped back, turning around to face her. "I don't think you're in the position to judge what is uncalled for and what is not."

Grace opened her mouth as if to retort, then she snapped her mouth shut and stood up with an aggravated sigh.

"Why do I even bother?" she muttered, shaking her head. _Because you care._

Christian felt his stomach churn as he watched her walk to the door. _Let her go._ _Picking a fight with her hasn't made you feel better: just drop it before things get worse._

"Because you're physically incapable of refraining from sticking your nose in other people's business?" he called after her.

Grace stopped at the doorway and swirled around to glare at him.

"You're a bigot," she said tightly.

"Oh, great," Christian sighed cynically, rolling his eyes, "now she's gonna give me the address of yet another support group."

"These groups are for people who are willing to rise above their flaws; I don't think you'd fit in," Grace spat.

She turned on her heels and walked stiffly through the door, leaving Christian to stand there, staring at the doorway and feeling that he had lost more than just a quarrel.

He looked down at his hand and realized that he had been gripping the Nougat Bar so tight that it was now completely ruined, the crushed chocolate squeezing out of the package and smearing his fingers. Christian swore under his breath and angrily threw the candy into the trashcan before washing his hands and storming out of the room. How that woman could get under his skin the way she did, he'd be damned if he knew.

Christian checked his watch and decided not to stop by his office and go straight to the scrub room instead. When he entered the OR to perform Mike Shane's surgery, he knew right away that this would be a very long hour. The pointed look Linda gave him told him that Liz had already given the nurse the bullet about their previous interplay, so Christian opted to just nod his head at the two women and make a beeline to the patient's side.


	6. Chapter 6

Christian felt a drop of cold sweat slowly roll down his back. He didn't have to look at the wall clock to know that Mike Shane's surgery should be over by now, and yet he could tell that it would still take him a good forty minutes to finish it.

The surgery was supposed to be a very simple one, but he just couldn't concentrate; his mind kept going back to Riley's consultation on Friday and to his fight with Grace earlier that morning. And, of course, the sardonic looks that Liz and Linda were exchanging didn't exactly help. The only thing that stopped Christian from calling for Sean's help was his own pride; he silently cursed women in general and the ones who worked for McNamara and Troy in particular, took a deep breath and resumed working.

- x x x x x -

"I know, dad," Grace said, fumbling with the penholder sitting on her desk. "It's a shame."

She sighed and made some sympathetic noises as her father expressed his rather strong opinions about a certain Father Michael Shannon, who as currently being accused of sexual abuse by some young boys of his parish.

Grace chewed lightly on her lower lip; after her lousy start of the day, she had called home hoping to hear some harmless gossip about her mother's friends or the latest antics of her nephews and nieces, but her father had other ideas. He had just come home after talking with Father Graham, a family friend and a very sweet old man who was greatly distressed by the fact that those children and their families were facing such an ordeal, caused by a man who should have been father and shepherd to his flock.

"Well, of course he's upset," she said. "How could he not be? It's just sickening."

Grace grimaced and pulled her cell phone away from her ear a little as her father's tone grew more emphatic. She heard her younger brother in the background, jokingly telling their father to tone it down before he deafened her.

"Is Andy home?" she asked. "Actually, no, dad, don't put him on the line," she said, glancing at her watch. "I should get back to work now; just tell him I said hi, okay?"

"Uh-hum," she said, nodding mindfully even if her father couldn't see her, smiling as he started the long string of advice that always followed his only daughter's phone calls. "I know, dad. I will. I know. Don't worry, I won't. Give mom all my love, okay? Uh-hum. Okay. I love you, too. Bye."

Grace flipped her cell phone closed and clipped it to her belt again; all in all, she did feel better after talking to her father, if not for any other reason than for hearing his voice.

She stood up, deciding that even if Chr… Dr. Troy hadn't talked to Dr. McNamara about her having follow-up consultations with the patients, she could always stop by to talk to those who were currently recovering from surgery, just to see how they were doing.

As she walked down the corridor that led to the patients' rooms, though, Grace had the nagging feeling that she had heard that name recently, in a different context. Father Michael Shannon; she furrowed her brow, trying to place the name. She lived next to the St. Thomas the Apostle Church, and she donated supplies to their Homeless Ministry on a regular basis, but she couldn't remember having met this Father Shannon, or even having heard of him. According to the newscast, the church he belonged to was all the way across town from her house, and she had never been there.

Grace sighed and shook her head, brushing off the feeling. Right now she had enough on her mind without having to worry about some sick pervert. Wherever it was that she had heard his name, she was sure that she was better off forgetting about it.

- x x x x x -

Christian sullenly tossed the gloves and the surgical mask in the trashcan as he left the OR without a word to Liz or to Linda. He checked his watch and saw that it was almost lunchtime: talk about a lost morning! Damn those women with their susceptibilities and their goddamn class solidarity.

"Fran," he said, as he stomped into the reception area, "I'm taking an early lunch break, can you check the afternoon schedule for me?"

"Sure, Dr. Troy," Fran said, turning to her computer. "Let's see… you have Mrs. Greene's liposuction at one thirty and a consult with Mr. Lloyd at four."

"Right," he muttered, scratching his head. Yet another hour stuck with Liz in the OR. _Oh joy._ "Is Dr. McNamara busy at one thirty?" he asked hopefully.

"He has a consultation with Mrs. O'Hara at two," Fran said after another search.

A consultation meant that Grace would probably be there, too.

"Okay, thanks, Fran," Christian sighed. "If anyone asks, I'll be back at one thirty."

- x x x x x -

Two hours later, Christian wasn't so sure that choosing the surgery had been such a good idea after all. Even though Liz seemed to have calmed down during lunch, she was still cold as Viking hell, while he could definitely use some sympathy after his recent encounter with Gina in the clinic's garage.

He hadn't taken his car out of the garage, having chosen to walk to a nearby restaurant instead. When he came back from lunch, though, he had gone to his car to get a CD that he wanted to listen during Mrs. Greene's surgery, and he had caught Gina red-handed there, having just flattened all four tires.

Of course she had denied it, claiming that the damage was already done when she arrived, and that she was only there to leave some brochures praising celibacy, restraint and all that crap. Nice try, psycho. After a less than friendly exchange, he had shoved her to the floor and stormed back into the clinic, seething with anger. He would've liked to talk with Sean - _or, even better, with Grace_ - and let out some steam before the surgery, but he only had time to call the mechanic shop before scrubbing up.

_And now you're stuck here in the OR with this hag when you could be making up with Grace._

Not that he **_wanted_** to make up with Grace.

"Six liters."

"What?" - Christian turned to Liz with a start, realizing that he had momentarily slipped into autopilot mode.

"You've already aspirated six liters of fat," she said flatly.

"Right," Christian muttered, racking his brains and trying to remember how much fat it was supposed to be, anyway.

"That's what's written in her chart," Liz hissed, giving him an impatient look. "Six. Liters. And you have already removed six liters, so…"

"I get it!" he snapped.

Liz gave him a shocked look, taken aback by his angry tone, and there was a tense silence before he proceeded in a tight voice:

"Turn off the aspirator, please."

As Liz obliged, he removed the cannula and silently started to close the incisions.

- x x x x x -

While his partner paid for his sins - past and future - in the OR, Sean was talking to Megan O'Hara in his office.

"Are you upset with me?" Megan asked, cocking her head to the side and giving Sean a somewhat nervous smile.

"Of course not," Sean assured her, raising his eyes from the form where he had just written down the cancellation of her breast implants. "It's your body; it's your decision."

He hesitated and asked:

"Did you and your husband…?"

He left the question hanging, and Megan shook her head, saying:

"I made the decision by myself this morning. Right before I told Jim I was leaving him," she added quietly.

Sean gave her a surprised look, taken aback by the unexpected news and unsure of what to say to her.

"Many marriages don't survive cancer," he finally said in a gentle voice. _And some wreck for much less than that._ "You're not alone."

"There's a big…" - Megan hesitated, looking for the right word - "hole in our marriage now that can never be repaired. And we both know that. We just had to finally be… honest."

"I'm so sorry," Sean said truthfully.

"Me too," she said quietly, nodding her head. "But I'm… oddly hopeful now, too," she said, and Sean thought that she looked beautiful when she smiled like that.

"Why is that?" he asked, smiling back at her.

"Jim doesn't see me as whole anymore," Megan murmured. "I thought maybe no one could."

Sean opened his mouth to protest, but she proceeded softly:

"But you could; yesterday, during my exam. And I thank God for that moment," she said with an earnestness that moved him deeply.

They didn't say anything and just smiled warmly at each other, until Megan said:

"If I may share a lesson recently learned?…"

Sean nodded his head in agreement and she proceeded, saying gently:

"Don't make the mistake of healing an internal problem with an external fix."

He smiled sheepishly, knowing that she was referring to his intention of having a vasectomy after the trauma of Julia's miscarriage.

"This day's been tough," Megan said then, standing up. "I need a drink. Maybe two," she added with a smirk.

"Thank you, Dr. McNamara," she said, holding out her hand, and Sean reached out to shake it.

Megan started to walk to the door but, just as she reached it, she turned around and said, giving Sean a hesitant smile:

"Maybe you'd like to join me?"

Much to Sean's surprise, he found himself opening his mouth to accept the invitation; but then he remembered all the times when he had chastised Christian for fooling around with the patients.

"I'm sorry," he said unwillingly, giving her an apologizing smile. "We have a policy here: we don't see patients socially."

Megan's disappointment showed clearly through the smile that she managed to keep on her face, and he added impulsively:

"But I am allowed to walk you to your car."

- x x x x x -

"Here you are," Grace said as she reached out across her desk and handed to Mrs. Walsh the piece of paper on which she had written the name and phone number of a colleague of hers. "Dr. McPherson is an excellent psychologist; I'm sure the two of you will get along well."

"Thank you," Mrs. Walsh said, smiling as she folded the piece of paper in two and gingerly put it inside her wallet.

She stood up and Grace did the same, asking:

"So, when will your surgery be?"

"Next week," Mrs. Walsh said as they walked to the door. "I'm kind of nervous," she confided.

"That's very natural," Grace said with a smile while she opened the door for Mrs. Walsh. "But you're in very good hands: both Dr. McNamara and Dr. Troy will be there."

"I haven't met Dr. McNamara yet," Mrs. Walsh noted as the two women walked out of Grace's office and towards the lobby. "But there's something about Dr. Troy that makes me feel rather…" - she shrugged - "safe."

_Yeah, right. Don't count on that._

"It's very important that you trust your physician," Grace muttered noncommittally, subtly averting her eyes as she made a mental note to make sure that the reliable Dr. Troy didn't mess up with her patient. The woman was emotionally vulnerable, an easy prey for men like him. _Not to mention that you'd be jealous as hell._

- x x x x x -

"You thanked me earlier," Sean said as he and Megan walked side by side towards her car. "Actually, I'm the one who should thank you."

He hesitated slightly before clearing his throat and proceeding:

"I'm not normally the one with the bedside manners; usually my partner is. When I was treating you…"

They stopped a few steps away from her car, and she gave him an inquisitive smile, silently encouraging him to proceed:

"I felt like a healer again," Sean said. "It was very nice, Megan."

"You're a very nice man, Dr. McNamara," she said softly.

"Sean," he corrected her with a smile. "Without the lab coat I'm just… Sean."

And then, acting on impulse, he leaned forward and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

Her eyes were bright when they parted, and he smiled at her, saying simply:

"Good bye, Megan."

"Good bye, Sean," she murmured, smiling back at him.

Then she turned around, and he watched with a blissful expression as she walked to her car.

- x x x x x -

"Dr. McNamara?"

Sean was so lost in his thoughts as he was coming back from the garage that Grace's voice startled him. He turned around to face her, feeling a little guilty, but also a little… carefree, he realized with pleasant surprise.

"Yes, Dr. Santiago?"

"Do you have a moment?" she asked as she caught up with him in the corridor.

"Sure," he said pleasantly. "What is it?"

"I was wondering if you could grant me access to the medical files of former patients," she said. Sean raised his eyebrows, giving her an inquisitive look, and she proceeded, explaining: "I'm trying to establish a profile of our patients."

"That's an interesting idea," Sean said. "I see you're trying to get more involved with the patients," he added with a smile. "That's very good."

"Well, I'm trying to adjust," Grace said. "The work here is very different from my previous job. Not necessarily in a bad way, but…" - she sighed - "Different."

"Of course," Sean said understandingly. "Christian talked to me about the changes that the two of you discussed earlier."

"He did?" Grace uttered, surprised.

"Yes," Sean said, smiling. "I'm glad to see that the two of you are getting along. And I liked your suggestions," he proceeded, not noticing as Grace shuffled her feet, flustered. "I think that we all should work together in order to treat our patients in a more… " - his expression softened and his smile widened a bit - "… holistic way."

"Uh… Good," Grace muttered, still coping with the fact that Christian had actually lived up to his promise.

"Would you do me a favor?" Sean proceeded, unabated, "Christian is in the OR right now; when he finishes there, please tell him that I'm taking the rest of the day off, and I'll need you and him to cover for me with Mr. Adams' consult at 5 pm."

He paused and added with a grin:

"Today I feel like skipping work and just spending some time outdoors."

_Well, let's see. He's my boss, and I had sex with him - twice - and just this morning I called him a bigot and a loser. No, I really don't think that I should be in the same room with him anywhere in the near future._

"Sure. I'll tell him." _I hate my life._

"Thank you," Sean beamed before turning on his heels and merrily walking away.


	7. Chapter 7

Instead of going to his office after Mrs. Greene's surgery, Christian marched straight to the lobby: he didn't have any more surgeries scheduled for the day, and Sean could take care of the consults of the afternoon, because he was damn well going home to change and then straight to the marina.

It was then that he saw her: the one girl in the world who he could never be mad at, who never had a harsh word or a reproachful look for him.

"Uncle Christian!" - Annie sprinted across the lobby and flung herself into his arms.

"Hey, princess," he said, scooping her up in his arms and hugging her tight. "Aw, you're such a sweet sight to my poor eyes."

He planted a sound kiss on her cheek before placing her back on the floor; only then did he see Julia standing by the reception desk, along with two other girls and two boys who seemed to be Annie's age.

Christian hesitated; he and Julia hadn't met again after she had chewed him out for taking Matt to a porno party, and he wasn't quite sure of how she'd greet him, or even if she'd greet him at all.

"Julia," he said, giving her a tentative smile. "Hi."

"Hi," she said after a beat. "Could you take these five to Sean's office?" she asked, glancing at her watch. "I'm already late for my dentist appointment."

"Dr. McNamara isn't at the clinic right now," the receptionist piped in before Christian could answer.

"What?" Julia shrieked, turning to her.

"Did he know you were coming?" Christian asked, giving the children a curious look.

"Yes, he knew we were coming," Julia said testily. "We talked about it three days ago."

"We're going to interview dad," Annie proudly informed him. "It's a project for Miss Gable's class."

"How can we interview him when he's not even here?" one of the boys - a thin kid with curly blond hair - asked sourly.

"He just had to leave for a little while," Annie said defensively. "I bet he's already coming back."

"Actually, Dr. McNamara said he wouldn't be back today," the receptionist said with an apologizing look.

"But today's the last day!" one of the girls said, her pigtails flouncing around as she turned to Annie. "We have to prepare the report and give it to Miss Gable tomorrow!"

"Annie, you promised!" the other girl, a pretty redhead with freckled cheeks and nose, whined. "Now it's too late to interview another dad, and we're all gonna get an F!"

"Oh, great!" Julia muttered bitterly, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"He said he'd be here," Annie said faintly, her lower lip trembling. "He said he wouldn't forget."

None of them noticed Grace standing at the doorway, a curious expression on her face as she watched the scene. She looked at Christian, noticing the wrinkle forming on his brow as he saw Annie's disappointment; then his expression changed as he exclaimed brightly:

"Oh, right! **_That_** interview!"

Kneeling on the floor before Annie he said, taking one of the girl's hands in his:

"Of course he didn't forget it, sweetie! He talked to me this morning, and he told me that you'd be here: he was thrilled and so proud to be part of your school project."

"No one's getting an F," he assured the children, giving Redhead a charming smile that made the seven-year-old giggle, and Grace had to bite her lips to avoid laughing out loud.

"Sean had some urgent business downtown," Christian told the group with a straight face, "so he asked me to give you the tour around the clinic while we waited for him. Silly me almost forgot," he added with an apologizing shrug and a lopsided smile that made Pigtails and Redhead sigh dreamingly, and even Grace found herself smiling, too, as he lied shamelessly to cover for his friend, but also - and, she somehow suspected, mainly - to protect Annie's feelings.

As Christian stood up and looked at Julia again, she gave him a reluctant smile, not having bought his story for one second, but grateful that he'd be there for Annie.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay with them?" she asked, experienced soccer mom.

"Of course," Christian assured her cheerfully, with the confidence of a man who had never watched more than one child at a time.

Julia opened her mouth to offer some advice, but then she sighed and shook her head, saying with an amused smile:

"Enjoy yourself."

After she kissed Annie and left, promising to come back at 4 pm to pick up the kids, Christian turned to the receptionist again.

"Call Dr. McNamara's cell phone," he said, giving Fran a meaningful look, "and tell him that Annie and her friends are already here, and that he should hurry up and not waste time stopping on his way back to the clinic to buy the ice cream. Then please call the ice cream store and order it yourself."

"There'll be ice cream?" Curly Hair asked, eyes bright in anticipation.

"Sure!" Christian said, grinning. "What kind of hosts would we be if we didn't offer some ice cream to the visitors?"

Grace quickly withdrew from the doorway and walked back to her office as the merry group made their way into the clinic. Once she walked around a corner and was safely out of view, though, she couldn't help but peek around the corner, smiling as she saw the children cheerfully following Christian down the corridor, all of them won over by his charms by now.

- x x x x x -

Thirty minutes later, Christian was starting to get worried. So far the visit had been a great success, but he was running out of tricks to keep the kids entertained. He had already taken Annie and her friends to see the OR, letting them wear surgical masks and rubber gloves, but they had to leave when Brian (formerly known as Curly Hair) started to show a little too much interest in the scalpels.

The software that simulated plastic surgery had been a blast: the kids had been thrilled to have their pictures digitally modified, to see how they'd look with big ears and different noses, but they were already starting to lose interest when the ice cream arrived.

Right now, they were all gathered in the break room, having ice cream and chatting, but then what? He glanced at Annie, who was laughing heartily at something that Jenny/Pigtails had said, and silently cursed Sean, wondering where his partner was.

And then everything went to hell.

It all happened very fast: one moment they were all friends, and then Brian, who had been picking on Abby during the entire visit, to the point that Christian suspected that he had a major crush on the redhead, finally said something that made her burst into tears. Before Christian could open his mouth to either comfort the girl or scold the boy, Doug lashed towards Brian and suddenly the two boys were rolling on the floor, wrestling.

When his demands to "knock it off right now" didn't work, Christian decided to step in to break up the fight. Every time he managed to grab one of the boys and hold him still, though, the other one used the opportunity to charge against his restrained opponent with renewed fury. When Grace entered the room, alerted by the noise, he hastily called for help:

"Can you hold back the one who's below?"

"Sure," she said, rushing towards the two boys and kneeling down on the floor next to Brian's head. She placed her hands firmly on the boy's shoulders and held him down while Christian grabbed Doug by his waist and pulled him away, still kicking and punching the air.

"Do you…" - before Grace could finish the sentence, one of Doug's feet struck the side of her head, and she was thrown to the left. She felt a sharp pain when her brow hit the corner of a chair, and after that everything went black.

When she opened her eyes again, she was lying on the floor and something cold was being pressed against the side of her head. She tried to shove it away and sit up, but Christian quickly reached out and stopped the hand that tried to push the icepack, chiding her gently:

"Don't do that."

His left hand was cupping her face as he kept the ice pack in place, while the right hand lightly touched her forehead, inspecting the wound with surprisingly gentle fingers. Then again, not so surprising: the man was a surgeon, of course he was good with his hands. _As you know from first-hand experience._

Grace suddenly realized that those blue eyes were a little too close for comfort, and tried to sit up again:

"Don't…" Christian started to say, but she didn't let him finish.

"I'm fine; just help me sit up, will you?" she said.

Christian reluctantly handed her the icepack and placed his arm around her waist as he carefully helped her sit up, all the while watching her intently for any signs of dizziness.

"What happened?" Grace asked, gently pulling away from him. A little.

"Doug kicked you in the head and you passed out," Jenny brightly informed her.

"And Uncle Christian was really scared," Annie added helpfully.

"How long was I out?" she asked.

"Maybe a minute," Christian said, still watching her with concern. "How many fingers do you see here?" he asked, showing her three fingers.

Grace gave him a slightly amused look, but he insisted:

"How many?"

"Three," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "And my name is Grace Santiago, today is Monday and I've been working for McNamara and Troy for three months now. Happy now?" she asked with a smirk.

"You lost consciousness," he admonished her.

"I'm fine!" she protested.

He looked genuinely worried, though, and she softened, adding with a sigh:

"But I appreciate your concern."

"I'm sorry," Doug said in a thin voice. Grace had to look around Christian to see him, standing a little apart from the others and staring at her with big, frightened eyes.

"Me, too," Brian hastily said.

"Well, you should be," Christian said sharply, causing the two boys to wince.

Grace mildly shoved his arm and said, turning to the boys:

"I know that neither of you meant to hurt me, and I accept your apologies. And so does Dr. Troy," she added, nudging Christian.

For a moment, she thought that he wouldn't say anything and just leave the two boys out in the cold, but then he sighed and said in a gentler tone:

"You both strike me as good boys: I don't believe that any of you meant for Dr. Santiago to get hurt. But she did," he proceeded sternly, "and it could have been serious."

He hesitated a little then added:

"That's what happens when you lash out without thinking, just because you're upset: innocent people can get hurt."

"Now," he proceeded, looking at each boy in the eyes, "we don't want that to happen, do we?"

"No," the two boys promptly replied in unison.

"Good," Christian said with a friendly smile. "Then you must learn to control your temper and from now on think before you act. Okay?"

The boys nodded with hesitant smiles that widened when Grace motioned for them to come closer and gave each one a kiss and a smile of her own.

Just then, Sean entered the break room: he gave Christian and Grace a bewildered look as he stared at them, sitting on the floor and surrounded by the five children, and at the ice cream that Doug and Brian had dropped on the floor.

"Daddy!" Annie exclaimed, happily running to him.

"Hi, pumpkin," he said, leaning down to kiss her affectionately. "What happened here?" he asked, looking from her to Christian and Grace and arching his eyebrows in worry when he saw the ice pack and the wound on Grace's brow.

"Five kids, too much sugar," Grace said lightly, while Christian got back to his feet and gingerly helped her stand up, "you do the math."

"Would you like me to take a look at that?" he asked, pointing at the cut on her brow.

"Don't worry," Christian quickly said, "I'll take care of it. You can go to your interview."

"Ah, yes. About that," Sean said, clearing his throat and giving Christian an apologizing smile. "Thank you. For keeping them company while I was…" - he had the grace to look embarrassed and avert Grace's eyes - "busy downtown."

"Any time, buddy," Christian said with a good-natured grin in which there was only the slightest glint of mockery. "Besides," he added, an earnest smile on his face as he turned to Annie, "I got to spend some time with my princess, and that's always a pleasure. Now, don't I get a good-bye kiss?" he asked in feign upset.

After Annie gladly hugged and kissed Christian, the other children said their good-byes to him and to Grace and followed Sean to his office, leaving Christian and Grace alone in the break room.

"Okay," Christian said, turning to her, "now let's take care of this cut."

"I don't think there's much to see," Grace reasoned. "It's not even bleeding any more."

"It's not like I want to suture it," Christian said as he led her to one of the exam rooms. "But I'm gonna clean it and apply a couple of adhesive strips to make sure it'll close properly and won't leave a scar."

"It's not as big as to leave a scar," she insisted even as she complied.

"One," Christian said, "you can't say that it's a small cut when it's on your head, hence you can't see it. And two," he added as he opened the door to the exam room and ushered her inside, "you're arguing with a plastic surgeon about scars."

He pulled a chair for her and placed his hands on her shoulders, gently but firmly making her sit down, grinning when she couldn't suppress a smile.

"So," she said while he used a moistened gauze sponge to gingerly wipe the blood off her forehead, "after this, am I entitled to tell my friends that I've already had plastic surgery?"

"As long as you don't intend to take a sick leave," he said with a smile.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but he shushed her, saying gently:

"Now close your eyes and stay still for a moment."

"Okay," she said, complying and trying not to shudder when he stood before her, his legs lightly brushing her knees, and tipped her chin, making her turn her face up towards him.

Christian himself wasn't finding it easy to focus on the task at hand. He watched her face as he worked, taking in little details that he hadn't noticed before, like the arch of her eyebrows, the long eyelashes, the slight flare of her nostrils, the soft curves of her lips… Christian blinked, suddenly realizing that his focus had slipped way down below the wound that he was supposed to be tending.

As he placed the strips, he mentally chastised himself for ogling a woman who he had already bedded - twice - and who was most definitely trouble with a capital "T". She thought too much and she was always ready to question him; not to mention that she worked for him, and Sean would throw a fit if he found out.

"All set," he said after he put the last strip in place.

"Keep it dry," he told her, handing her a hand mirror, "and let me take a look at it again in a couple of days before removing the strips."

"Thanks," Grace said, smiling as she looked at herself in the mirror. "I will."

"And no scuba diving until then," he added.

"I won't," she said, snickering as she gave the mirror back to him.

They hesitated, neither one wanting to leave just yet, but both knowing that there was nothing left for them do here now that he had already taken care of the wound.

"You did a good job with the kids today," Grace said after a beat.

Christian raised his eyebrows, giving her an incredulous look.

"You do remember how you ended up with that cut on your head, don't you?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that it was the high point of the afternoon," she admitted, giggling, "but overall I think you did a really good job keeping five kids entertained and out of trouble for almost an hour. Especially considering that you had no idea that they'd be coming over today," she added pleasantly.

Christian opened his mouth to deny it, but she gave him a knowing smile, and he finally snickered and just shrugged by way of response.

"You're good with children," Grace acknowledged with a smile.

"Clearly, not with **_all_** children," he scoffed good-naturedly.

"Don't be so harsh on yourself: breaking up fights is not for beginners," she said, grinning. "I have six nephews and nieces and I still can't break up a fight without help."

"That's not encouraging, you know."

"You'll get better at it," Grace assured him. She hesitated, then added: "Don't you remember the first time, uh… what's the name of Dr. McNamara's eldest?"

"Matt."

"Right. Don't you remember the first time Matt started to cry while you're holding him and you had to hand him back to his parents, how you felt all inept and inadequate? And then one day you realized that you'd gotten the grip of it and you knew just how to soothe him and make him stop crying without asking for anyone's help."

"Yeah," Christian murmured with a wistful smile. "It felt great."

"A lot has been said about parenthood," she said softly, "but people tend to underestimate how much it can change you to become an aunt or an uncle."

"It does," Christian said quietly, nodding his head.

They smiled at each other, and for a moment neither one said anything; when Grace's cell phone suddenly started to ring, the unexpected sound startled them. They both giggled, and Grace unclipped the cell phone from her belt and checked the name on the display.

"It's from here," she said, puzzled.

As she answered the call, Fran said:

"Dr. Santiago, your 4 pm consult is here. I'm trying to reach Dr. Troy, but he isn't at his office, and he doesn't answer his cell phone, either."

"Oh," Grace uttered, looking at her watch and grimacing when she realized that it was five minutes past four.

She covered the speaker with her hand and mouthed the word "patient" to Christian.

"It's okay, Fran," she said, turning her attention back to the phone. "Please send the patient to," - she gave Christian an inquisitive look and he nodded, pointing at his own chest - "Dr. Troy's office; we'll meet him there."

She thanked Fran and clipped the phone shut again, and then quickly followed Christian out of the exam room and toward his office.

"Fran couldn't reach you," she told him as they walked to his office. "Is there something wrong with your cell phone?"

"You mean, despite the fact that it's sitting on my desk right now?" he asked with a sheepish smile.

"You know," she said with a smirk, "the reason why they're so small is to make it easy for you to carry them around with you."

Christian chuckled slightly; he considered telling her about his earlier encounter with Gina and the subsequent need to call a mechanic before entering the OR, but suddenly it didn't seem so important any more.

They were almost at the door to his office when he impulsively reached out and held her arm to make her stop.

"Look," he said when she turned to him with a surprised look, "about this morning…"

"I was out of line," she said before he could proceed.

"So was I," he said, shrugging.

"Well, I can actually be a bit of a meddler sometimes," she admitted with a sigh. "I like Liz and, frankly, I resent the way you talk to her sometimes, but it's not my place to be scolding you."

She hesitated, then asked out of the blue:

"Have you ever read Goethe?"

Not waiting for an answer, since the look on his face alone said volumes, she quoted:

"It's a pity that Nature made only one person out of you, for there was material enough for a good man and a rogue."

"Hum, I'm not sure whether I should be offended or flattered," Christian said, only half joking.

"I think," she said gently, "that you should decide which one you want to be."

Christian blinked and stared at her, baffled. He was used to being called worse than a rogue, but it had been a while since he had last been called a good man.

Noticing his confusion, and feeling slightly embarrassed herself, Grace said:

"Our patient is waiting for us."

Christian stepped forward and reached out to open the door for her; then, just as she was entering his office, he blurted out:

"Would you by any chance have connections in Children's Services?"


	8. Chapter 8

"I don't make the policy, Dr. Troy; I just enforce it."

Grace fidgeted on her seat, looking from Christian to the middle-aged woman sitting before them and refraining from sighing in frustration. Her friend Carla, a family attorney who often had to deal with Children's Services, had told her that in order to get the authorization for Riley's surgery their best chance would be to talk to Deborah Lewis. _Either this woman suffers from a serious case of multiple personality disorder or Carla secretly hates me._

Then again, she couldn't blame Mrs. Lewis alone for the course the interview was taking: Christian's attitude wasn't exactly helping. Just one hour ago, as they were leaving the clinic, he seemed to be in such a good mood, but somewhere between then and the moment when they had walked into the building his stance had changed completely. All of a sudden he was all snappish, looking like he could barely wait to get out of there.

"So the only difference between you and a rubber stamp is your salary," Christian spat, causing Mrs. Lewis to stiffen and shoot him a dirty look.

Grace turned to him, flabbergasted. "What are you doing?" she wanted to yell at him. He had called Riley's parents on Tuesday and asked them to take the boy to the clinic again, so that Grace could talk to him and provide a report attesting that the surgery was in the child's best interest, and he had been so happy when she had managed to schedule a meeting with Mrs. Lewis for Wednesday afternoon. Why was he now antagonizing the woman, instead of sweet-talking her into signing that darn consent form?

"Look," Mrs. Lewis said testily, "I've got a hundred other kids without Medicaid approved elective surgeries. There are risks."

"They're minimal," Christian said.

"And if anything does happen, then the state is liable," Mrs. Lewis proceeded, ignoring the interruption. "If something goes wrong, it will end up costing those other ninety-nine kids out there."

"Nothing is going to go wrong," Christian insisted.

Mrs. Lewis opened her mouth to reply but he held up his hand.

"Look," he pleaded, leaning slightly forward towards her, "I can help this kid, this one kid. I'm just asking you to make an exception. Not for a case, not for a number, for a child."

Torn between looking at Christian and watching the social worker's reaction to his words, Grace chose to just glance briefly at him: she was moved by the genuine feeling in his words, and also relieved to see him tune his attitude down and appeal to the woman's heart instead.

"Or is it just too inconvenient?" he asked brusquely, almost as if he had opened up more than he had intended and was now regretting it.

Grace mentally smacked her own forehead in exasperation. _God help me, I'm gonna kill this man._

"I have an idea," Mrs. Lewis said in a sweet voice that was dripping with sarcasm. "Why don't you quit your practice and come work for us? This way you can help more than one kid."

Christian clenched his teeth, staring hard at her; he deliberately retreated his hands and placed them on his thighs, as if that was all he could do to refrain from reaching out across the social worker's desk and choking her. When he didn't reply, Mrs. Lewis proceeded sternly:

"You have no idea what we're up against here."

Christian stiffened, feeling his blood boil, but the incensed retort died on his lips when Grace's hand suddenly lashed towards his and she clutched his wrist, her fingers closing around it in a rather painful grip.

"Mrs. Lewis," she said with an amiable smile, while her fingernails dug into Christian's flesh even through the fabric of his sleeve, "we understand your position; it's a huge responsibility that you have here, to ensure the welfare of every children in the state's care."

"I appreciate your understanding, Dr. Santiago," Mrs. Lewis said civilly, "but I won't be smooth talked into authorizing this surgery."

"Far from me to try," Grace said pleasantly. "I just want to establish that we're all on the same side here."

"Oh, **_we_** are on the same side, alright," Mrs. Lewis said with a look that didn't encompass Christian.

Grace felt his arm twitch beneath her hand and tightened her clasp, pinning his wrist against his thigh.

"I understand and appreciate the fact that the rules are meant to protect the children," she proceeded, "but, Mrs. Lewis, the rules need to cover the broadest possible range of scenarios, and therefore have to be rather… nonspecific."

She carefully relaxed her grip on Christian's wrist and stroked it soothingly, feeling his quickened pulse gradually start to return to normal.

"Would the State of Florida assign people like you to enforce said rules if they didn't trust your judgment to analyze each instance on a case by case basis?" she asked.

"And what, Dr. Santiago," Mrs. Lewis patiently said, "is there about this particular child that says that I should okay the surgery?"

"Here," Grace said, giving Christian's arm one last warning squeeze before she released it in order to open her briefcase. "I have talked to Riley, to ascertain the effect of his present condition on his self esteem and on the way he interacts with other people, especially with other children -- he'll be starting school the next semester."

"And," she proceeded, handing her report to Mrs. Lewis and reaching into the briefcase to get another document, "Dr. Troy has examined the child, too, and can state that his condition impairs his speech and leaves him more vulnerable to ear infections."

As Mrs. Lewis placed Grace's report on her desk and turned her attention to Christian's, Grace was glad that she had proofread it and made Christian rewrite it until it was laic-friendly and jargon-free. Without thinking, she reached out for his arm again, gently closing her hand around his wrist as they waited for Mrs. Lewis to finish reading.

Finally, the social worker placed the two reports on her desk with a sigh. Grace felt Christian tense up again, and she discreetly rubbed his hand and wrist, silently urging him to keep his temper in check.

When Mrs. Lewis finally spoke, she addressed Christian again.

"If anything goes wrong on the operating table," she said, giving him a severe look, "you're gonna have to assume full financial and legal responsibility. Are you willing to do that, Dr. Troy?"

Grace held her breath, because right now there was nothing else she could do. She could provide a professional opinion to help the responsible parties make their decision, but in the end it would be Christian, not she, who would be held responsible if anything went wrong: it was his decision to make and there was nothing she could do about it.

"Yes, I am," Christian said, nodding his head.

Mrs. Lewis gave him a critical look before saying with a sigh:

"I suppose you have brought the consent form with you?"

- x x x x x -

"Are you okay?" Grace asked as she and Christian walked to his car.

He hadn't said a word since they left Mrs. Lewis's office, carrying the consent form on which the social worker had finally put her signature, and his silence was starting to get on her nerves.

"My wrist hurts," he said curtly, unlocking the passenger door for her and walking around the car and towards the driver's door.

"Sorry about that," she said. "What was that, by the way?" she asked as they entered the car.

"What was what?" he said, not looking at her as he started the engine.

"Didn't your mother teach you not to answer a question with another question?" she teased good-naturedly, reaching out to buckle her seat belt while he maneuvered the car out of the parking space.

"If you must know," Christian replied caustically, still refusing to make eye contact, "I'm not used to kissing bureaucrats' asses in order to get permission to do my job."

Grace inhaled sharply, but she bit back the angry retort that came to her lips.

"No," she said instead.

"What?" Christian said, turning to her with a puzzled look.

"No, I'm not letting you pick a fight with me just because you're upset and you don't wanna talk about it," she said firmly.

"Oh, good grief!" Christian growled, turning his attention back to the traffic. "Spare me from the psychological crap."

"Okay," she said serenely, "just give me a straight answer, then: do you or do you not want to talk about what happened in Mrs. Lewis' office?"

"No," he snarled. "Straight enough for you?"

"Yes, thank you," Grace said pleasantly, determined not to let him make her lose her composure.

She opened her purse and picked her cell phone to check a couple of text messages that had arrived during the meeting, while surreptitiously glancing at Christian. He had his eyes trained on the street ahead, but the tightness of his jaw left no doubt about his current state of mind. Grace inwardly rolled her eyes: she wouldn't be so presumptuous as to assume that she had him all figured out by now, but when he acted like a ten-year-old there was really no sport to it.

Without a word, she put the cell phone back into her purse and prepared to wait. _Come on, spit it out: trust me, I can keep this up much longer than you can._

While Christian just drove and sulked, Grace leaned back on her seat and looked through the window, mentally recalling the names of the states and their capitol cities.

_Florida, Tallahassee. Georgia, Atlanta. South Carolina, Columbia. North Carolina…_

"The system sucks," Christian burst out.

Without a word and, to her credit, also without a victorious grin, Grace took her eyes off the street to look at him.

"All that rubbish about caring for the children, but when a child actually needs their help, what do they do? They hide behind their rules, and their forms, and their numbers!"

Grace watched, surprised, as his ranting became more and more incensed.

"If they really cared," Christian proceeded heatedly, "they'd get their fat asses up from their comfortable chairs and go help those kids who have slipped between the cracks, instead of…"

He suddenly stopped mid-sentence and turned to her with a frown.

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" Grace asked, arching her eyebrows with genuine surprise.

"Don't analyze me," he demanded.

"I'm not analyzing you, Christian," she said patiently.

"You're sitting there, not saying a word and just watching me while I speak."

"You're the one who's upset," she said, shrugging. "I'm just letting you vent. It's called 'listening'," she added good-naturedly.

He glared at her, and Grace sighed.

"You want me to speak?" she said, throwing her hands up into the air. "Alright."

"It is frustrating," she acknowledged. "The system is far from perfect, and so are the people who work for it. Some of these children are actually receiving what they need; some of them aren't, but they'll make it any way, because God bless them, they're tough cookies."

She sighed and added quietly:

"And some of them just won't make it. And if I keep ruminating on this," she added, shrugging sadly, "the day will come when I just won't be able to bring myself to get out of bed in the morning."

"So," Christian said gloomily, not looking at her and staring ahead, "you shut it out and pretend they're not there?"

"No," Grace said. "I focus on the ones that are within my reach; I try to make sure that at least these won't slip through the cracks or, in case they already have, that they can still be rescued."

"I can't save them all," she proceeded sadly. "I wish I could, but I can't," she trailed off, leaning back on her seat again.

Christian didn't say anything and they remained silent for a while; he kept his eyes on the traffic, feeling emotionally exhausted, his head in turmoil. As they were approaching the clinic, he fidgeted in his seat, glancing at her from time to time.

"Are you now wishing that you had agreed to a fight?" he asked tentatively as he made a turn to the left and headed the car towards the clinic's garage.

"No," Grace sighed, cracking a smile and lightly shoving his arm.

They didn't talk while he maneuvered the car into the garage and parked it beside Sean's car. Christian turned off the engine, and Grace unbuckled her seat belt and started to open the passenger door. Instead of getting out of the car, though, Christian leaned back on his seat with a tired sigh.

"What?" Grace said, stopping with her hand on the handle of the partly open door.

"I don't have anything else scheduled for today," he told her. "I think I'll just call it a day."

Grace took her hand off the handle and turned to him again, cocking her head to the side and watching him intently; he suddenly looked so tired and vulnerable, and seeing him like this made her heart pull in an awkward way.

"Come inside, Christian," she said gently. "Call Riley's parents and give them the good news."

He didn't reply right away and she added with a smirk:

"And if that doesn't lift your spirits, I'll let you start a fight, I promise."

Christian couldn't suppress a chuckle, and Grace smiled when he sighed and unbuckled his seat belt.

"I'll hold you to that promise," he warned her, but he was smiling, too, as he opened the door and got out of the car.

He looked at her as she stood beside the car, taking off her sunglasses and putting them back into her purse. Grace casually reached out and pushed a dark curl behind her ear, and Christian watched her with mixed feelings, chewing lightly on his lower lip. The fact that she could stir such feelings in him, all kind of emotions both bitter and sweet, was disconcerting. It was alarming. It got him longing for more.

Grace turned to him and smiled briefly at him when she caught him watching her; without a word, they started to walk towards the stairs that led to the lobby, and looking at her Christian suddenly decided that what Sean didn't know wouldn't hurt him (or make him go on the usual string of ranting about work ethics and whatnot).

"Would you like…" he started to say, but then her cell phone began to ring.

Grace looked at her purse and then back at Christian.

"Uh, I need to…" -- she pointed at her purse, giving him an apologizing shrug.

"Of course," he said, nodding.

She reached into her purse to get the cell phone, and her face lit up when she read the caller's name on the display.

"Hi!" she chirped as she answered the call, making Christian give her a curious look. "How was your flight?"

"Aw, poor baby!" Grace cooed as she heard the answer, and despite the mockery in her voice it was evident that she and the caller were very close. "Why don't you go straight to my place and wait for me there? I left my spare key with the super, and I told him that you might be arriving before I did."

She went on like that for a while, telling her interlocutor where she kept the clean towels and asking what he'd like for dinner, while Christian pretended not to be listening to every word. When she finally ended the call, she turned her attention back to him with an apologizing smile.

"Sorry," she said. "You were saying?…"

"Would you like me to remove the strips?" he asked without missing a beat, gesturing towards her brow.

"Yes, thanks," Grace said. She hesitated, sensing that there was something out of place in his casual stance, yet unable to tell where it was coming from. She put the cell phone back into her purse, frowning slightly at it: could it be that he was upset because of…? She mentally shook her head: no, of course not. He couldn't care less. Then again, it was not like she cared about whether he cared or not, so… _Oh, shut up, Grace!…_

"I, uh…" -- she looked at her watch -- "Dr. McNamara and I have a patient scheduled for five minutes from now, but after that…" -- she gave him an uncertain look -- "Will you still be here?"

"Sure," he said offhandedly. "It won't take more than ten minutes." _Don't worry; you won't be late for your date._

They were in the lobby now, and Grace saw a young woman who she assumed was her patient sitting on one of the couches and reading a magazine.

"Okay," she said. "I'll stop by your office later."

"Fine," Christian said, nodding.

"Good," she muttered, casting one last curious glance towards him before going to greet her patient.


	9. Chapter 9

Christian stared sulkily at the computer screen before finally turning away from the PC with a heavy sigh. He could almost hear Sean's admonishing voice, telling him that this was exactly why he always fell behind in paperwork. _Whatever, dad!..._

He turned off the computer, deciding that there was no point in staying at the clinic when it was almost five o'clock and he had nothing else scheduled for the day. The more he thought about it, the more certain he was that he should have stuck to his original plan and called it a day after the meeting with the social worker. Just as he stood up, though, there was a light knock on the door, and the cold, twisting knot in his stomach tightened as he saw Grace standing at the doorway.

"Hi," he said, civilly. "Has your patient left yet?"

"Yes," she said in the same tone, annoyed with herself for feeling as if she had done something wrong. _It's none of his business. And even if it was…It doesn't matter, because it isn't._

Grace tensed when he walked around his desk and towards her, but she willed herself to relax while he pulled a chair for her and closed the door without a word. _For goodness sake, Grace, you're not in twelfth grade! _She sat on the chair, lowering her eyelids and avoiding eye contact while he removed the strips and gently ran a finger over her brow, inspecting the smooth skin.

"And this," he said lightly, straightening up and taking one step back, "concludes your postoperative period."

"So," Grace asked as she stood up, "does it mean that I'm allowed to snorkel this weekend?"

"Wouldn't snorkeling be considered a throwback for a scuba diver?" Christian asked as he threw the discarded strips in the trashcan.

"It's not as much fun," she admitted as he walked her to the door. _It's none of his business, it's none of his business, it's none of his... _"But I promised my brother that I'd take him snorkeling next time he came to Miami."

"Your brother?" Christian echoed, his hand resting on the doorknob and his heart doing a somersault in his chest.

"Yes," she said, nodding. "Charlie is in town for business, and he'll be staying with me until Sunday."

"When did Charlie arrive?" Christian asked conversationally, closing the door behind them as they left his office.

"About an hour ago," Grace said. "You know, when we were in the garage, and my cell phone rang…"

They were in the corridor now, standing before the door to Christian's office, each one praying that the other wouldn't notice their agitation. Except, of course, that they weren't agitated. They weren't agitated **_at all_**.

"I need to get my purse," Grace finally said, pointing in the general direction of her own office.

"Right," Christian said, nodding. "I should be going, too."

He hesitated slightly, then added:

"See you tomorrow."

"See you."

Christian watched as Grace turned around and walked to her office; he still stood there for a while before finally swirling on his heels and heading on the opposite direction. Despite the utter relief he felt to know that the guy staying with Grace was just her brother, he was frowning as he walked to the garage. The very fact that he was experiencing such relief was setting off all kinds of alarms in his head. Enjoying a woman's company was one thing; being jealous of her was a whole different matter. A rather dangerous matter.

The buzzing of his cell phone startled him, and he stopped short near his car. He looked at the display, but the number didn't ring a bell.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Christian Troy?" asked a female voice that he didn't recognize.

"Yes," Christian said warily.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Troy. This is Cynthia Burke, of the organizing committee for the 'The Scene'."

"Oh," Christian said, perking up. He had completely forgotten about the swing party. "Good afternoon. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks," she said. "Dr. Troy, it's my pleasure to inform you that you and Miss Sloan were selected to join us for the upcoming party."

"Really?" he said, the memory of the pictures that they had taken to send to the organizing committee flashing in his mind and bringing a broad smile to his face. "Well, that's great."

"Can I give you the address?"

"Just a second," Christian said, quickly opening the door of his car and reaching out to take a pencil and a piece of paper out of the glove compartment.

He was grinning as he wrote down the address. Just what the doctor had ordered.

- x x x x x -

Thursday morning was rather busy: it was past eleven o'clock when Christian finally left the OR, after performing a complete tummy tuck. He was tired, but in a very good mood as he walked towards the break room: the surgery had been successful and, even if he and Liz were far from being best friends, they were now back on their usual barely civil terms.

"Christian!"

He turned around and saw Grace walking towards him in the corridor. She was smiling, and Christian smiled back at her and raised an inquisitive eyebrow when he noticed the glint of excitement in her eyes.

"Guess what," she said as she stood before him, "I'll be doing tomorrow?"

"Replacing the Yoplait that you stole from the fridge yesterday?" he asked, grinning when she made a face on him.

"I'll be watching a surgery," she beamed, ignoring his taunting.

"Tomorrow?" he said, trying to remember what he had scheduled for Friday.

"Yes," she said as they started to walk together towards the break room. "It's a face-lift, along with a bunch of other stuff that Dr. McNamara mentioned: nose, chin, cheeks…" -- she grimaced, shuddering dramatically -- "That's gotta hurt."

"Luckily for us," Christian said with a smile, "the patients seem to think that the final results are worth it. But I should warn you," he told her, "that a face-lift can look quite gross."

"I won't freak out," she protested. "Will you be there?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Sure," he said as they stopped before the door to the break room. "Someone has to catch you if you pass out."

Christian chuckled when she mock glared at him, but he didn't enter the break room with her.

"There's some things that I need to discuss with Sean," he told her. "I'll catch up with you later."

As Grace entered the break room, though, Christian didn't go to his partner's office, and walked straight to the lobby instead.

"Fran," he said to the receptionist as he got there, "can you check Dr. McNamara's schedule for tomorrow, please? Only the surgeries," he added as she turned to her computer.

"Dr. McNamara has Mrs. Benton's face-lift at 8 am," Fran said. "And Mr. Atkins's liposuction at 2 pm."

"I don't have anything scheduled for tomorrow morning, do I?"

"No, you don't," Fran said after checking his schedule.

"Good," Christian said, nodding. "Book me for Mrs. Benton's surgery along with Dr. McNamara."

- x x x x x -

A few minutes later, when Christian walked into Sean's office, he found his partner sitting at his desk, absently chewing on a grilled sandwich and so lost in his musings that he didn't notice Christian until this one knocked on the door.

"Hey," Christian said as he entered the room and sat across the desk from his friend. "What's up?"

"Just thinking," Sean said, shrugging.

Christian raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but Sean didn't elaborate, so he just leaned back on his chair and said, giving his partner a critical look:

"You think too much, Sean."

"Maybe I do," Sean sighed, placing the sandwich back into a paper bag with the logo of Rascal's.

"How do…"

"I was…"

Both men stopped, chuckling when they realized that they had started to speak at the same time.

"You go first," Christian said with a smile.

"How do you feel about taking on an intern?" Sean asked.

"What does she look like?" Christian asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"**_He _**is a friend of Julia's from school. Jude something. I could use the points," Sean added with a sigh. "She's pissed that I'm not outraged enough about Matt's three-way."

_Plus, you're feeling guilty because she arrived just as you were telling Linda not to charge Megan for her two consults._

"Alright with me, partner," Christian said with a smug grin. "I'd much rather have him hanging around here all day than hanging shirtless by your pool feeding your wife margaritas."

Sean shot him an impatient look that would have been more effective if he hadn't indeed experienced a tinge of jealousy when Julia was pleading her classmate's case.

"What about you?" he said, quickly changing the subject, "What were you going to say?"

"I was checking tomorrow's schedule," Christian said casually, "and I noticed that you have a face-lift scheduled for the morning."

"Yes," Sean said, giving him an interrogative look.

"I don't have anything scheduled for the morning," Christian proceeded with a shrug, "and it's been a while since I last performed a face-lift. I was thinking of joining you in the OR. If you don't mind."

"Of course not," Sean said, smiling in pleasant surprise. "It's gonna be a long procedure: I could definitely use an extra pair of hands. Besides," he added, "we must take our revalidation tests this year. And you," he gently chided, "tend to avoid your weak points and stick to the procedures that you know you're good at."

The buzzing of Christian's cell phone saved him from the lecture that he could feel was coming his way.

"I need to take this," he said, pointing at the cell phone and grinning because both he and Sean knew that he was mighty glad that he was saved by the bell.

"It won't kill you to review your anatomy," Sean warned him as he stood up.

He sighed and rolled his eyes when Christian nodded lightly, already leaving the room. Still, Sean was smiling when he reached into the paper bag to get his sandwich again. Christian might drive him crazy sometimes, but he loved him like a brother. A reckless, wayward, not always reliable younger brother, he thought with a sigh, yet there was no one in the world he would rather share his practice with.

- x x x x x -

Sean raised his eyes from the scrub sink, frowning slightly as he saw Christian yawn.

"You didn't go partying on the night before a four-hour-surgery, did you?"

"What?" -- Christian stopped scrubbing to look at his partner.

"You look like you didn't have much sleep last night," Sean said, watching him.

"I had enough sleep," Christian said curtly, turning his attention back to his hands.

Just as Sean opened his mouth to admonish his friend, Liz and Grace came out of the female locker room, both wearing full scrub attire.

"Good morning," Liz said as she walked to Sean's side by the scrub sink and reached out for the antimicrobial soap.

"Good morning, ladies," Sean said. "Dr. Santiago, I see Liz has already introduced you to the proper attire."

"Good morning," Grace said, nodding and smiling briefly at Christian when he took a break from his sulking to wiggle an eyebrow at her when Sean and Liz weren't looking. "Should I be washing my hands, too?" she asked, pointing at the scrub sink and giving the surgeons a hesitant look.

"No," Sean replied. "You don't need to be sterile since you won't have physical contact with anything in the sterile field. Just make sure your hair is secured under the head cap and put the surgical mask on."

"Okay," Grace said, reaching out for one of the masks he had pointed at.

"You alright, Sean?" Liz said, giving him a concerned look when she saw him squirm, moving his head in circles.

"My neck sized up this morning," Sean sighed, grimacing. "Must've slept funny."

"It's not the first time I've seen see you complain about that," Liz noted. "You've been too tense lately."

"Have you considered seeing a chiropractor?" Grace asked while she double-checked her head cap.

"No!" Sean hastily said.

Grace turned around to give him a curious look and he added, shuffling his feet:

"I mean, uh… Why?"

"I seem to recall that one of the patients we interviewed recently is a chiropractor," she said, shrugging. "It occurred to me that maybe you should see one."

Just then, Linda came from the OR, saying:

"Dr. McNamara, Mrs. Benton has some concerns that she'd like to discuss with you."

"Now?" Sean said, grimacing. "Alright," he sighed, rolling his eyes and following the nurse into the OR.

As Liz, too, entered the OR to prepare the patient for the surgery, Christian turned to Grace.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Sort of," she admitted. "What in the name of heaven is a sterile field?"

"That'd be us," Christian said with a smile. "Sean, me, Liz and Linda. And the patient, of course, the operating table and the Mayo Tray -- that's where the surgical instruments are kept, and Linda will probably be guarding it like a hellhound."

"For safety's sake," he proceeded as they entered the OR, "you'd better avoid touching anything in the OR, with any part of your body. This way you won't have to worry about forgetting what's sterile and what's not. When I was on first year, they told us to keep our arms crossed in front of our chests, to make sure we wouldn't accidentally contaminate the sterile field."

"Feel free to ask questions," he finished as they joined the others, "if we're too busy to answer, we'll just let you know."

As Grace looked at the patient, she figured that whatever concerns Mrs. Benson might have regarding her surgery, those concerns must be gone by now. She was lying calmly on the operating table, being prepared by Liz while Sean talked to Linda across the room.

"Dr. Santiago," she said, giving Grace a drowsy smile. "Hi."

Grace smiled back at her, but before she could answer the patient had already closed her eyes, falling into a drug-induced sleep.

"Where should I stay to make sure I don't stand in the way?" Grace asked, and Christian smiled behind his mask when he realized that she already had her arms mindfully crossed in front of her chest.

"Christian and I will only be working on the patient's face," Sean told her. "So as long as you stand below the waistline it's not likely that you'll hinder."

"Do you know what to expect here?" Christian asked when Grace went to stand by his side.

She shook her head, and he placed his finger on the patient's temple, next to the roots of the hair.

"We're gonna make an incision that'll start here," he told Grace, "and continue in front of the ear, around the ear lobe into the crease behind the ear, then into the lower scalp."

Grace nodded, her eyes following his finger as he traced an imaginary line over Mrs. Benton's skin, and he proceeded:

"Muscles and sagging tissue will be tightened and excess skin or underlying fat will be suctioned then. If she had only asked for a face-lift, that's when we'd start to reposition the remaining skin to create a more youthful look and then close the incisions. Since she also asked for chin implants, though, we're gonna insert the implants through this incision."

Christian was so concentrated that he didn't notice the looks on the faces of the rest of the staff. Linda raised her eyebrows at Sean, the nurse's eyes clearly saying, "who is this guy and what has he done to Dr. Troy?" but he was as surprised as she was, and turned to Liz instead. Liz just shrugged and motioned with her chin towards Grace, who was following Christian's explanation with great interest, her eyes trained on his hand as he showed her where they'd be cutting and stitching.

Sean followed Liz's gaze and he looked from Grace to Christian, his eyebrows shooting up. But then he shook his head, dismissing Liz's idea: this just wasn't Christian's style. In order to impress women, he resorted to his looks, his money, his charm; he never tried to impress them with his brains. It's not that he didn't have them: Christian just never dated women who would be impressed by a man's intelligence.

He turned to Liz again, while Christian explained to Grace the difference between an open rhinoplasty and a closed rhinoplasty, and shook his head categorically, causing the anesthetist to shrug and roll her eyes.

"Sean?" -- Christian's voice cut off his musings, and Sean turned his attention to his partner again.

"Shall we start?" Christian asked, motioning with his head towards the patient.

"Sure," Sean said. He hesitated, giving his friend a thoughtful look as it dawned on him what had kept Christian up late the night before. "Actually," he said, "why don't **_you_** start?"

Christian arched his eyebrows and Sean added:

"Clearly, you're well prepared."

Christian hesitated, looking uncertainly at Mrs. Benton. He had prepared himself for this surgery, to make sure he wouldn't make an ass of himself in front of, well, anyone, but face-lifts were Sean's thing; he only tagged along.

"Sure," he finally said, holding up his hand and receiving the scalpel that Linda promptly placed there.

- x x x x x -

"So," Christian said once he and Sean were back in the locker room, after Mrs. Benton's surgery, "this friend of Julia, when does he start?"

"I told Julia that he could start today after lunch," Sean said, opening his locker, "since we'd both be busy in the OR during the morning."

"I have a liposuction at two," he proceeded, taking off his scrubs. "Can you talk to him when he arrives here, give him some directions?"

"Sure," Christian said without much enthusiasm, throwing the shoe covers in the trashcan. Baby-sitting a would-be surgeon who probably couldn't tell a scalpel from a Boy Scout knife wasn't exactly his idea of fun.

He took off the surgical gown and stretched his arms above his head, grunting as the sore muscles of his neck and shoulders protested.

"Had a run for your money today, huh?" Sean teased him friendly.

"I thought we were going to work together on this one," Christian grumbled as he reached out for his clothes. "Instead you let me do all the hard work."

"And you did a very good job," Sean said earnestly.

Christian gave him a sideways look, searching his face for any signs of irony, and Sean proceeded:

"You're a better surgeon than you think you are, and when you take the time to prepare yourself properly and focus on what you're doing, it shows."

"Say what you want, you won't be tricking me into doing all the work again," Christian said smugly, but there was a twinkle of pride in his eyes when he left the locker room.


	10. Chapter 10

Christian tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he looked at Riley Sullivan, lying peacefully asleep on the operating table. He knew that Liz and Linda were only waiting for him to begin, but all of a sudden he found himself frozen in place. He had prepared himself for that surgery (he still couldn't believe that he had actually spent most of the weekend hitting the books) but as he looked at the child before him, so fragile and helpless, all the confidence he had felt as he walked into the clinic that morning vanished like a candle blown out.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, trying to look like the expert surgeon he was pretty sure he wasn't. _Okay, now. You can do this. You're more skilled than you think you are_. Christian groaned inwardly: right now, Sean's words of praise seemed to belong to another lifetime rather than three days ago.

He shuffled his feet, the memory of Grace's smile as she complimented him for Friday's surgery only making him more anxious. "Material enough for a good man and a rogue", his ass; life was definitely easier when you weren't trying to be a good man.

"So, what do we have here?" -- Liz's voice brought him back to the present with a start.

"Uh?" -- Christian gave her a puzzled look, and she motioned with her chin towards Riley, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Hare lip and cleft palate," he told her, gathering his wits.

"Isn't this kind of surgery usually done when the child is younger?" Liz asked, giving the boy a curious look.

"His foster parents had some trouble getting Social Services' approval."

Liz sniffed to express her opinion about the kind of officialism that would deprive a child from a surgery he so obviously needed.

"He looks so small!..." she sighed. "You won't have to break any bones, will you?"

"No." -- Christian shook his head, watching Riley's face -- "I'll just make an incision here…" -- he pointed at the left side of the cleft that went from the boy's upper lip to his nostril -- "And, uh… Linda, hand me the scalpel." -- he held out his hand, with his eyes still on the boy, and the nurse promptly placed the scalpel on his waiting hand.

"Here," he repeated as he gingerly made an incision on the left side of the cleft, "and here." -- he made another incision on the right side.

"Will you have to implant something to fill the gap?" Liz asked.

"No," Christian muttered, not raising his eyes as he carefully turned the dark pink outer portion of the cleft down. "Just gotta pull the two sides together like this... muscles and skin..." -- at this point he was totally focused on the procedure, barely aware of Linda's movements as the nurse prepared the needle and surgical thread that she knew he'd need.

He worked steadily for almost three hours, his brow furrowed in concentration, never raising his head as he answered Liz's questions. It wasn't until the surgery was over that it occurred to Christian that the anesthetist had already assisted more than just a few harelip corrective surgeries before. Maybe not enough for her to know the answers to the questions she had just asked him, but enough for her to know how to ask all the right questions, the ones that had subtly guided him through the procedure.

Christian discarded the needle and the remnants of the surgical thread into the trashcan and gave Liz a perplexed look, but she was still wearing the surgical mask and he didn't know how to interpret the look in her eyes as she said amiably:

"Good job."

"Thank you," he muttered, giving her one last curious look before he left the OR.

- x x x x x -

"What's with everyone acting out of character these days?" Linda blurted as she threw her surgical gown in the trashcan and turned to Liz with her hands on her hips.

"Uh?" -- Liz was sitting across the locker room from Linda, tying the laces of her shoes, and she raised her head to give the nurse an innocent look.

"First, it's Dr. Troy suddenly developing an interest for his work," Linda said. "And now, you, of all people, are helping him?"

"Oh, come on, Linda!" Liz said as she stood up and opened her locker. "Anyone could see that he took the time to prepare himself for this surgery; he was just nervous, and needed a little extra push."

"You know me," she said, shrugging as she took a comb out of the locker, "I'm a softy."

"No, you're not."

"Fine," Liz chuckled as she stood in front of the mirror and started to comb her hair. "But I like to think of myself as a generous person. Besides," she added, "if Christian actually decides to take his work more seriously, it's everyone's gain."

"Do you think he will?" Linda asked skeptically.

Liz hesitated for a moment before she turned away from the mirror and back to the other woman.

"Can you keep a secret?" she asked, lowering her voice despite the fact that they were alone in the room.

"Sure," Linda said, her eyes glinting with interest.

"I think he has a thing for Grace, and that's why he's behaving like this."

"Grace? Like in, Grace Santiago?" Linda asked, her eyebrows shooting up. "The woman whose paycheck he signs every month?"

"Technically," Liz said, placing the comb back in her locker, "we're paid via direct deposit."

"Don't joke about this, Liz," Linda said. "Dr. McNamara will go ballistic: this has sexual harassment written all over it!"

"That's why I asked if you could keep a secret," Liz said, eyeballing her. "Besides," she added, closing the locker, "I said that I **_think_** Christian has a thing for her. I may be wrong."

"For her sake, I hope you are," Linda muttered as they walked out of the locker room together. "I thought you liked Grace," she said, giving Liz a slightly reproachful look.

"I do," Liz said, nodding. "But the girl is made of tough stuff; if Christian thinks he'll walk right over her like he usually does with women, I have a hunch that he's in for the shock of a lifetime."

- x x x x x -

In the meantime, Christian had left the male locker room and was talking to Riley's parents in the waiting room, blissfully unaware of the discussion about his love life that was taking place a few yards away.

"Did everything go well?" Mr. Gates asked anxiously.

"Will he be okay?" -- Mr. Wood's looked calmer than his partner did, but his voice was wavering slightly as he made the question.

"Yes it did," Christian said, his smile widening as the fact that he had indeed healed a little boy started to sink in, "and yes, he will."

"He's going to be just fine," he assured them, smiling when the two men looked at each other, exchanging wide smiles of joy and relief.

"You're a good man, Dr. Troy," Mr. Gates said, reaching out to shake his hand. "You have got some serious positive karma coming your way," he added fervently.

"Thank you very much," Mr. Wood said. "What you did for our son today…" His voice faltered and he uttered hoarsely: "Thank you so much."

"And," Mr. Gates quickly added, "as soon as we get the money…"

"This one is on the house," Christian said, cutting him off.

In the silence that followed his words, he almost laughed at the sight of the two astounded faces turned towards him as the two men digested what he had just said.

"Dr. Troy, we…" Mr. Wood stammered. "We don't, can't let you do that. It's…"

"You can," Christian said, kindly but firmly. "You will. Please. If you can take care of him for the rest of his life," he said earnestly, "I can take care of him for one day."

There was another brief moment as the two men hesitated, and then Mr. Gates suddenly moved forward and hugged Christian. Mr. Wood followed him shortly, and Christian's eyes widened as he found himself in the middle of a group hug. He awkwardly returned the hug, Mr. Gates' words -- _you're a good man, Dr. Troy_ -- making him think of Grace's smile again.

"I, hum…" Christian stammered as the two men let go off him, "You can see Riley as soon as he's out of recovery."

He smiled as they thanked him again. And again. As Christian finally left them and walked out of the waiting room and down the corridor that led to the elevators, he had a smile on his lips and a spring in his step, feeling good about himself in a way that he hadn't felt in quite a long time. He was startled when his lab coat was grabbed from behind and he was pulled back just in time to avoid an empty gurney that was being wheeled out of a nearby room.

"Daydream much?" Grace asked laughingly while a nursing assistant wheeled the unharmed gurney down the corridor.

"I'm coming from Riley Sullivan's surgery," Christian told her, unable to keep a note of pride from his voice.

"And how did it go?" she asked, smiling as the glint in his eyes already told her all she needed to know.

"Right according to plan," Christian said, grinning.

"That's great," Grace said earnestly.

They smiled at each other, unaware of the looks on the faces of Liz and Linda as the two women walked towards them. Linda raised her eyebrows, and Liz elbowed her lightly, giving her a pointed look before addressing Grace:

"Sorry I'm late. Are you ready for lunch?"

"Yes, I'll just stop at my office to get my purse," Grace said. Then, turning to Christian: "Dr. McNamara set an appointment with a chiropractor this afternoon; he asked if you and I could cover for him with Miss Gray's consult at two thirty."

"No problem," Christian said. "I, uh… left something in the locker room," he added, pointing in the general direction of the OR and casting a curious glance at Linda as the nurse's probing stare was starting to make him nervous. "Have a good lunch."

"Thanks," Grace said as she followed Liz and Linda towards the elevators.

As the three women walked down the hall, Christian still stood there for a while, watching them -- _her_ -- go. He was feeling really good about himself because of Riley's surgery, and it had absolutely nothing to do with Grace. He made a point of keeping his eyes on her butt as she walked away, because that was all she meant to him: a fine piece of ass and another notch to his belt. So there.

- x x x x x -

"Am I the only one who finds this guy to be a nuisance?" Christian muttered under his breath as he and Grace walked down the hall.

They had just finished the last consult of the day, with Jude there as a bystander, and by the end of the consult Christian had already thought of five rather painful ways to make Sean pay for leaving him stuck with Julia's classmate all afternoon. He didn't know how to explain it except that the guy rubbed him the wrong way. And if he caught him ogling Grace's legs one more time, the future plastic surgeon wannabe would be the one needing the services of a plastic surgeon.

"He's a nuisance," Grace stated positively, after looking over her shoulder to make sure Jude wasn't within ear reach.

"Why is he even here?" she asked. "It's not like he's any help, as far as I can see."

"He has some classes with Sean's wife," Christian said, shrugging. "Julia has just gone back to med school," he explained when Grace raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"And she asked him to take this guy as an intern?" Grace said, wrinkling her nose. "A man could file for divorce based on this."

Christian laughed heartedly and she insisted in mock gravity:

"Mental cruelty is grounds for divorce!"

They stopped at the door to her office and she said with a smile:

"Well, I need to hurry: I have people coming over tonight and my place is a mess."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Christian said. "And so will Jude," he added slyly, just for the sake of seeing her scrunch up her face again. Not that it was cute or anything.

"Not until noon, he won't," Grace replied with a smug smile of her own. "I have three one on one consults scheduled for tomorrow morning."

She giggled at the disappointment on his face and said softly as she walked into her office to get her purse:

"Bye, Christian."

Christian huffed and made a face on her, but before he could come up with a smart reply her cell phone started to ring, and he had to make do with frowning at her and leaving. He was smiling as he walked to his own office, though, merrily disregarding the warning voice in the back of his head that kept reminding him that his supposedly staunch resolve not to let Grace get under his skin was getting flimsier by the day.

Because he was in a good mood, he turned on his PC and updated Riley's medical file, and also typed in his notes from the consults of the afternoon. As he saved the last file and logged off, Christian was humming contentedly to himself, knowing that for once Sean would have nothing to admonish him about the next morning.

He turned off the computer and left his office, locking the door behind him and heading to the clinic's garage. His good mood quickly vanished when he reached the bottom of the stairs and his eyes fell on his car, more specifically on the word written in his stalker's signature pink paint:

"ASSHOLE"

"Gina." -- Christian's hands balled in fists, the memory of her angry face flashing in his mind and making him see red. He was going to kill that bitch. That crazy, whiny, obsessive… He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to focus. First things first. Right now, he needed two things: a mechanic to fix his car and a taxi to take him home.

While he unclipped his cell phone from his belt and dialed the mechanic shop's number, Christian considered his options. As Gina herself had mentioned during their last confrontation, he didn't know her home address or even her last name. Could he file a restraining order with just her first name and her cell phone number? He doubted it. And he had already tried physical intimidation, clearly with no results, he thought as he glanced darkly at his car.

After giving the clinic's address to the attendant, he disconnected the call and proceeded to call a taxi, deciding that he'd deal with Gina the next day. He knew where to find her, and he'd find out where she lived even if he had to follow her home after one of those goddamn meetings.


	11. Chapter 11

"If I never see another Disney character again, it'll be too soon," Sean grumbled as he and Christian walked into the locker room.

They had spent most of the morning working on a bipolar teenager who had, during one of her maniac episodes, had dozens of Disney characters tattooed on her body. After two years of uninterrupted treatment, taking her medication and attending therapy, the girl was now stable enough to go through surgery and have the tattoos removed, and her therapist, an acquaintance of Grace, had referred her to McNamara and Troy.

"I for one found Chip and Dale rather pleasant to the eye." -- Christian's frivolous joke granted him a scowl from his friend.

"The girl is seventeen," Sean rebuked curtly. "And she has a disease."

"I just…"

"There's nothing to be funny about."

"I'm sorry," Christian said sullenly as he took off his surgical gown and tossed it into the trashcan.

"You should be," Sean carried on while he opened the door to his locker, and Christian let out an exasperated sigh.

"Well, I said I am, now can you let it go?" he snapped.

He turned his back to his partner and started to angrily take his clothes out of his locker. Sean might be tired after the surgery but, guess what? So was he. And he was the one being stalked.

Christian was frowning as he slid his arms through the sleeves of his shirt. It wasn't so much the financial loss that was getting on his nerves as it was the fact that he felt so unbearably helpless about the whole thing, never knowing when or how Gina would strike next. All he knew was there would be a next time: at this point it was clear that her anger wouldn't just wane with time.

"I'm sorry," Sean sighed, bringing him back to the present. "I'm just…" -- he ran his hand across his face -- "I must've gotten up on the wrong side of the bed today."

He hesitated and considered telling Christian about the picture that he had found between the pages of one of Julia's books the night before, but promptly dismissed the idea. Even now, the memory of finding a picture of Jude, half naked, among his wife's things was enough to make his stomach churn in painful humiliation. To think that she had asked him to take the guy as an intern at his own clinic! And blind and stupid that he was, he had agreed. The kid must be a good fifteen years younger than she was, for God's sake! Then again, hadn't Christian, too, had his share of older married women when he was Jude's age? Sean involuntarily gritted his teeth as he remembered his friend bragging about his conquests, scoffing at the poor bastards who worked so hard to build a lifestyle that they didn't have the time and the energy to give the missus the attention that he, Christian, was ready and willing to provide.

"Is the neck still bothering you?" Christian asked when he saw Sean sigh and rub his neck. "I thought you went to see a chiropractor yesterday."

"I did," Sean said quietly, the memory of Megan and the fact that they had agreed not to see each other again serving to rub salt on his wounds. "And it helped," he added. "It helped," he repeated thoughtfully. "I might go back for another consult."

"Uh-hum," Christian muttered as he checked his hair on the mirror. "Any consultations with which you need me to cover for you?"

"I don't have anything scheduled after three," Sean said. He experienced a mixture of emotions at the perspective of seeing Megan again, feeling both scared and excited, and was he really going to do that?

"I'll let you know if I set an appointment."

"Fine," Christian said, checking his watch: it was past noon, and he could use a ride for lunch, since his car would be in the mechanic's shop until the next day. "Wanna grab a bite?"

"Sounds like a plan," Sean said, closing his locker. "I'm starving."

- x x x x x -

Christian tapped his fingers on the desk, feeling slightly impatient even though his two o'clock patient should only arrive in another ten minutes. He and Sean had come back from lunch a little while ago, and while Sean went straight to the OR Christian had stopped by Grace's office, only to find out that she had taken a late lunch hour and wasn't back yet.

He checked his watch for the third time in the last five minutes, frowning.

"Am I late?" -- Christian raised his eyes just in time to see Grace walking through the door, and he almost pulled a muscle in his jaw in the effort not to grin at the sight of her.

"You're right on time," he told her genially while she walked around the desk and sat by his side.

"I thought that you wouldn't even be here yet," Grace noted, placing a clipboard with her own copy of the patient's application form attached to it on the desk. "I didn't see your car in the garage."

"It's in the repair shop," Christian sighed. "I didn't feel like driving around the city telling the world that I'm an asshole."

"What! Again?" Grace asked, arching her eyebrows.

"Are you kidding?" he snickered bitterly. "It's been four times, if you count that time when we…" -- Christian stopped abruptly, his eyes widening slightly as he saw her turn to fumble with her clipboard, her cheeks tinging with a light shade of crimson. "Four times," he repeated, watching her intently, her prompt response to the mention of that night sending a pleasant shiver through him.

They had never mentioned their night together again, almost as if there was an implicit agreement not to raise the subject, and now Christian wondered how Grace actually felt about it, and whether she -- _too_ -- had been thinking about it since then.

"Don't the police have any clue yet?" she asked, careful to avoid direct eye contact.

"As a matter of fact, I already know who's behind these attacks," he said just for the sake of keeping the conversation going, suddenly not so interested in Gina's wacky ways any more.

"You do?" Grace asked, surprised, turning to him again.

Something electric zinged between them when their eyes met, strong enough to make Christian hesitate, for once unsure of what to say. They were both startled when there was a knock on the door and Jude opened it for a slim, middle-aged woman.

"I met Mrs. Rosenfeld in the lobby," he told Christian as he followed the patient into the room. "And since I was told that you were already waiting for her here, I thought I'd escort her."

"Dr. Santiago," he said, grinning at Grace.

"Mr. Sawyer," she replied civilly, nodding her head by way of greeting.

Grace moved her chair to the side to make room for Jude and stood up to shake Mrs. Rosenfeld's hand. She didn't move it closer to Christian's chair, though, but rather towards the edge of the desk, so that he had to move his own chair towards hers and make room for Jude at his other side.

Christian stood up to greet the patient, too, his pleasant smile masterly concealing his annoyance at the interruption.

"Mrs. Rosenfeld," he said, holding out his hand. "As punctual as the sun."

- x x x x x -

Forty minutes later, as Christian stood up to walk Mrs. Rosenfeld to the door, he was fully aware that he had just conducted what was probably the worse anamnesis in the history of medicine. Between blocking Jude's view of Grace and trying to read her once again composed expression, wondering what she was thinking, it had left him little time to actually listen to Mrs. Rosenfeld's whining. Daughter's wedding, something something, neck lift, whatever. He'd have to make sure Sean didn't lay eyes on her medical file until he had a chance to set another consultation and get more information about her.

"Mr. Sawyer," he said all too civilly, turning to Jude, "would you walk Mrs. Rosenfeld to the lobby and help her set another consult? Dr. Santiago and I have a few things to discuss before the next patient arrives."

"Sure," Jude said, smiling at Mrs. Rosenfeld as he followed her through the door.

Christian smiled lasted for one nanosecond after Jude closed the door; then he exhaled loudly, exchanging a look with Grace.

"Will he be here for the next consult?" she asked.

"He leaves at three on Tuesdays," Christian said, "and God forbid he should work past his scheduled time."

Grace chuckled softly and Christian smiled as he walked back to his chair. He sat behind the desk and looked from her chair to her, saying:

"Our three o'clock patient shouldn't be long."

After a brief hesitation, Grace joined him, and his smile widened as she sat by his side.

"So," she said, unclipping the forms from her clipboard, "your stalker. Have you already pressed charges?"

"Uh, no," Christian said, shifting on his seat as he remembered why he hadn't been able to press charges against Gina. It suddenly occurred to him that it was very unlikely that Grace would be okay with the fact that he had sex with a woman when he didn't even know her last name.

"You should," she said, raising her eyes from the clipboard to give him a surprised look. "I mean, four attacks!" -- she placed Miss Rosenfeld's form under the others before attaching them to the clipboard again -- "Anyone who's this obsessed isn't to be taken lightly, Christian."

"Yeah," he muttered, glancing at his watch. What were the odds that the next patient would arrive fifteen minutes early?

"Even if it's a woman who has reason to resent you," Grace said, arching her eyebrows as she sensed his unease and guessed the motive, "it doesn't justify…"

"I can't press charges against her," Christian unwillingly admitted.

"Why not? Is it someone close to you?" Grace asked, giving him an unsure look.

"No," he said, shuffling his feet.

When he didn't say anything else, she cocked her head to the side, giving him an inquisitive look, and Christian sighed, resigning himself to the fact that his three o'clock patient wouldn't arrive in time to save him.

"I can't press charges because I don't know where she lives," he muttered.

"Oh." -- she stiffened visibly, and he swallowed, painfully aware that things were about to get worse.

"Well," she said, collecting her wits, "you don't need to give her address to the police. If you tell them her name I'm sure they'll be able to…"

"I don't know her last name, either."

"Is she a prostitute?" she asked, and there was a hint of disgust in her voice that made him wince.

"No," he quickly assured her.

"Well," Grace said, sounding slightly exasperated, "you must know **_something_** about her. Where did you meet her?"

Christian opened his mouth to answer, but then his heart sunk as it dawned on him that the fact that he had slept with Gina without bothering to learn her last name wasn't by far the worst thing he could tell Grace about that night.

He closed his mouth again and swallowed hard, praying for the arrival of the next patient, a phone call, a heart attack, anything that would spare him from answering her question. When nothing happened, he took a deep breath and braced himself for her reaction.

"Now, before you say anything," he started, causing her already arched eyebrows to rise higher, "I really think you should look at it on the bright side. You see, I actually took your advice," he proceeded warily, "and went to that meeting you told me about."

"What meet…" -- Grace's eyes widened in shock when the meaning of his words sank in. "Oh, God!…"

"Look…"

"You slept with a woman you met at a Sexaholics Anonymous meeting," she said slowly, the look in her eyes making him cringe because it was one of shock, but also of utter disappointment.

Grace looked away from him; she inhaled deeply, as if the revelation had left her breathless, and Christian felt a dry knot in his throat as he looked at her. She sucked in her lower lip, still averting his eyes, and didn't say anything, until the silence became too much for Christian and he said tentatively:

"Say something."

Grace hesitated, still staring straight ahead; when she turned to him again, she looked angry and saddened and so disappointed that it was all he could do to sustain her look.

"I'm speechless," she said grimly.

He waited, but she didn't say anything else and looked away from him again, and the knot in his throat grew bigger and tighter.

When the phone sitting on the desk started to ring, Christian absently reached out for it, his mind whirling in the effort to say something, anything, that would make him look not so bad in her eyes.

"Yes," he said in a tight voice.

"Dr. Troy," Fran said on the other end of the line, "Miss Miller is here. Should I send her in?"


	12. Chapter 12

Christian somehow managed to keep a smile plastered to his face while he walked Miss Miller down the corridor and to the lobby and said good-bye to her there. Grace had left right after the consult under the excuse that she needed to make a phone call from her office. Not that she had told that to him, by the way; she had said it to Miss Miller, barely nodding her head at him before quickly leaving the room.

When he finally got rid of Miss Miller, though, Christian hesitated. Now, what? He somehow doubted that Grace would be more receptive now that she had time to cool down. In fact, the more he thought about it, the less inclined he was to force another confrontation with her.

"Has Dr. McNamara left yet?" he asked the receptionist just to buy himself some time.

"About ten minutes ago, Dr. Troy," she replied. "And he said he won't be back today."

Christian nodded absently, thanking her as he walked back into the hallway, feeling a lump of ice in his stomach and knowing that there was only one thing that would make it better.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered. A nurse walking past him gave him a quick, puzzled look and Christian pressed his lips tightly together as he realized that he had said it out loud.

Well, it **_was_** ridiculous. He was a grown man, unengaged, and he paid his own bills. He didn't need Grace's sanction -- or anyone else's for the matter -- to have safe sex with a consenting partner. So, he didn't know her last name, he thought as he walked to the break room. Big deal. If she hadn't acted like such an obnoxious bitch afterwards, he might have actually stuck around long enough to learn it.

Christian was so engrossed in his inner rant that he didn't see Grace walking right towards him with her head down. They yelped in pain and surprise when he bumped into her and the plastic cup she was carrying was squashed between their bodies, spilling hot coffee on both of them.

"I'm sor…"

"Are you blind?" Grace exclaimed angrily.

"Me?" he replied, indignantly. "You were the one scurrying around the place carrying a cup of steaming coffee!"

"I was walking at a normal pace," she hissed, glaring at him, "careful not to spill my coffee. You hit me like a freight train and nearly knocked me to the floor!"

She looked down at her coffee soaked blouse and exclaimed in frustration:

"Look at this! This blouse is ruined!"

"Aw, your blouse!" Christian snorted. "This," -- he said, gesturing towards his equally wet shirt, "is Gucci!"

He gasped in shock when the remains of the plastic cup hit him right on the chest and Grace angrily stormed past him. He still stood there for a moment, staring at her retreating back in disbelief as she stomped towards her office; she had almost reached the door when he snapped out of his paralysis and darted after her, livid with rage.

Grace let out a small cry of surprise when he grabbed her arm just before she entered her office, swirling her around to face him.

"So," he snarled, towering above her, "I can't start a fight to avoid discussing what's upsetting me, but you can?"

He felt a shiver run down his spine as he looked at her, standing so close to him, her face flushed and her nostrils flared in anger, shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

Christian sustained her look with a fiery look of his own, and she finally lowered her eyes, saying grudgingly as she motioned with her head towards the open door:

"Come on in."

He almost reluctantly let go off her arm and followed her into her office, closing the door behind them. Without a word, Grace turned around to face him, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"I am **_so_** mad at you," she said tightly, glaring at him. "I told you about the meetings in good faith, Christian!" she proceeded heatedly before he could reply. "You don't think you have intimacy issues? Fine. But the women going to those meetings do, and they're trying to do something about it. And it's hard enough for them as it is: they don't need men like you going there thinking that they're easy prey."

"I didn't plan it," he said quietly as his anger subsided, mingled with an unexpected aching need to make her stop looking at him that way.

Grace uncrossed her arms and leaned back on her desk with a sigh. She suddenly looked tired and sad, and when she spoke again her tone was milder.

"Can't you see why it was so wrong?" she asked him, and Christian shifted his weight from one foot to the other, finding it hard to look in her eyes when they were begging him to say the right thing, to prove that he wasn't just a selfish bastard.

"You make it sound as if I twisted her arm," he muttered, digging his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and staring at his own shoes like a schoolboy.

"You did," Grace said quietly, causing him to jerk his head up, his eyes widening in shock.

"I never…"

"You don't buy a drink for an alcoholic," she said sternly, cutting him off. "You don't ask an obsessive compulsive if they're sure they locked the door or turned off the gas before leaving the house."

"These are diseases," Christian protested.

"And so is anorexia nervosa and body dismorphic disorder," she said. "Just because it's not physical, it doesn't mean it's less serious, Christian, or any less painful."

"Look," she sighed, suddenly pulling him by his arm and making him sit on the chair before her desk, "just forget, for a moment, that I referred you to that meeting, okay?"

She pulled her own chair from behind the desk and wheeled it around it, placing it in front of the desk, facing Christian's. Her blouse was sticky with dried coffee, and she grimaced and pulled the fabric away from her body.

"Forget what I said about your sex life," she said as sat before him. "This is not about you. The people who go to those meetings, they're there because they feel that they've lost control. They're hurting themselves and others with their lifestyle, and they want to stop, but they just can't. They're having sex with all the wrong people, for all the wrong reasons; some of them have slept with complete strangers, with people they despise, with the spouses of their friends. Some have unsafe sex, do it in public places, have multiple partners, and they know that they'll feel like trash afterwards, every bit as unfulfilled as they felt before, and yet they just can't help themselves."

Christian squirmed on the chair, unable to look into the brown eyes that seemed to bore holes through him, and she proceeded in a softer tone:

"This woman with whom you slept didn't choose to be like this; she already has enough on her plate, what with all the guys out there who don't know about her problem or just don't care about it. She shouldn't have to take it from you, too."

"Well, I, too, am one of those guys out there, ain't I?" he mumbled, scuffing his foot to the floor.

"You do know about her problem," Grace pointed out. "And I was hoping you also wouldn't be one of those men who just don't care," she finished quietly, her voice trailing off at the end of the sentence until they were both silent.

The silence that followed was only broken by the soft squeak of the wheels of Christian's chair as he swung it lightly back and forth, still unable to meet Grace's eyes.

"I, uh…" he finally said with a dry mouth, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" -- he shrugged unhappily -- "I never thought."

"Perhaps you should take the same advice you gave to Annie's friends last week," she said gently. "I'm guessing that you've hurt a lot of people in your life because you just don't stop to think of the consequences of your acts."

"Yeah, well, they're kids," Christian sighed. "You know what they say about teaching old dogs new tricks," he quipped humorlessly, looking so bitter that it made Grace's heart throb painfully.

"That's not fair. You can't teach dogs to perform reconstructive surgery, either," she replied, smiling when Christian chuckled in spite of himself. For a moment her wish to get up from her chair and just hug him, boss or no boss, sticky clothes and all, was so overwhelming that it took all she had to just stay where she was.

"I wish Gina shared your point of view," he sighed, leaning back on his chair.

"The way I see it," Grace said, "you owe her an apology, regardless of the vandalizing of your stuff."

"Been there, done that," he said. Grace arched her eyebrows and he admitted: "For my own selfish reasons, but still…" -- he grimaced at the memory -- "She won't buy it."

"You've already smooth talked her once," Grace reasoned. "One can't blame her for not trusting you."

Christian sighed and looked down at his shirt, frowning slightly as he touched the nasty stain on the chest.

"Sorry about you shirt," Grace offered with a lopsided smile.

"I wasn't paying attention, either," he admitted as he raised his eyes to her with a smile of his own.

"Well, I guess we're even," she sighed good-naturedly, gazing down at her blouse. She tugged lightly on it as the gluey feeling was really starting to bother her, then she turned to Christian again.

"This meeting," she said, "the one where you met Gina, was it the one I referred you to? 64th and Collins?"

"Yes."

"There'll be another meeting today," Grace said, looking at her watch. "There's still time to go home and change."

"No, really," Christian said, "she won't listen to me."

"Well," Grace said, shrugging, "maybe she'll listen to me."


	13. Chapter 13

"Now I feel like a stalker myself," Christian sighed as he looked through the windshield, scanning the parking lot.

"It's 8:05 already," Grace noted, checking her watch. "Are you sure she attends the Tuesday meetings?"

They were both sitting in her car, watching as several people arrived for the SA meeting, but so far Gina hadn't made an appearance.

"It was Tuesday when… There she is, there she is!"

"Where?" Grace asked, perking up and looking in the direction he was pointing.

"Straight blond hair, white jacket, purse just the right size to hold a can of jet spray," he said, glaring at the woman, and Grace rolled her eyes and mildly shoved his arm.

"Okay, I'll go talk to her," she said, opening the door. "You wait for us over there." -- she pointed at a coffee shop across the street.

They got out of the car and Grace started to walk towards the door through which Gina had just passed, but then she stopped and turned around, scurrying after Christian as he walked to the coffee shop.

"Wait," she said, opening her purse and taking something out of it. "Keep yourself busy," she told him as she handed him a soft cover book.

"How long exactly do you plan to spend in there?" he asked her, giving the book a less than enthusiastic look.

"Hopefully, not long," Grace said. "But it won't help our cause if she walks in there to find you flirting with the waitress."

With that, she turned on her heels and walked towards the church, leaving him there to frown at her retreating back.

- x x x x x -

Christian gave the book sitting on the table next to his beer a sideways look. "The Ballad of the False Messiah." He puffed, annoyed, and took a sip of beer; but his curiosity had been pricked, and he soon turned his eyes back to the book and to the phone card that served as a bookmark. As he lightly flicked the phone card, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of book she read. Without taking his eyes off the book, he reached out for his beer again, stopped with his hand resting on the bottle, hesitated for a little while and finally let go of the bottle and opened the book with a sigh.

When Grace and Gina entered the coffee shop twenty minutes later, they found Christian so enthralled by the troubles of the immigrants at the Barão Franck colony that he didn't even notice the two women staring at him from the doorway.

"He's actually reading it," Grace muttered, arching her eyebrows.

"What's it?" Gina asked, her hands on her hips and her mouth twisted in a sour expression at the sight of Christian.

"A short story book," Grace told her, still looking at Christian. "I lent it to him while he waited."

"To make sure I wouldn't walk on him flirting with the waitress?" Gina asked, giving her a knowing look, and Grace giggled in spite of herself.

"Kind of," she admitted. "Come on," she said in a soberer tone, gently taking the other woman by her arm and leading her to the table. "Let's get it over with."

Finally noticing their presence, Christian raised his eyes from the book and looked at the two women as they stood by the table, his expression darkening as he saw Gina.

"Hey!" he protested in indignation when the blonde lashed out and snatched the book from his hands.

Gina flicked her tongue in scorn as she flipped briefly through the pages, giving the book a critical look:

"No pictures... Lots of big words... You must of been boring yourself to death here, asshole."

"Look, you…" -- Christian started to stand up as Grace hastily took the book from Gina's hands, arching her eyebrows warningly at Christian while she motioned for the blonde to sit across the table from him.

"Okay, back to the subject at hand," she said resolutely, placing her book back into the safety of her purse. She looked at Christian and Gina, who were glaring at each other from their seats, and wondered where she should sit as it occurred to her that each one would resent her for "taking the other's side", and she might lose whatever leverage she had here.

Finally, she took a chair and placed it midway between the two quarrelers, sitting down with a sigh and watching them with a look that said "Well…?"

"Christian?" she said coaxingly when neither one said anything, raising her eyebrows as Christian shuffled his feet and stared sullenly at the beer bottle. _You are _**so**_ not backpedaling on me now, mister._

"I…" he started between clenched teeth, stubbornly avoiding eye contact with Gina. It was definitely harder to feel sorry about anything when he was looking at that petulant frown.

He turned to Grace instead, and experienced a pang of shame as he saw her staring quietly at him, the words of their earlier talk coming back to him. Christian sighed and unwillingly turned to Gina again, making an effort to suppress the antagonism in his voice as he said:

"I'm sorry."

Gina opened her mouth but he proceeded quickly before she could make an acid retort:

"I had no business interfering with the choices you've made… even if I'll be damned if I understand them," he couldn't help but add huffily.

"I didn't mean any harm," he sighed. "I didn't think…" -- he shrugged, starting to feel uncomfortably self-conscious -- "I didn't think. I should have thought of what the consequences of my acts would be, not only for me, but also for you."

He paused, chewing lightly on his lower lip as he stared at the beer bottle again, but Gina didn't interrupt him this time and he finally proceeded, reluctantly turning his eyes to her again.

"And, afterwards…" -- he swallowed hard and forced himself to go on -- "I was out of line. You were right about one thing: I did behave like an asshole. I **_am _**sort of an asshole. Sometimes. Most of the time."

Gina just stared at him in silence, leaning back on her seat with her arms crossed in front of her chest and he sighed, somewhat frustrated.

"So there."

"Is this my cue?" Gina asked with mock sweetness. "Am I supposed to start to cry now?"

"I think we'll settle with both of you burying the hatchet," Grace said, quickly placing her hand on Christian's arm to suppress the impending comeback. "And moving on," she gently added.

She watched tensely as Christian and Gina stared hard at each other, until Gina finally rolled her eyes and said with a sigh:

"Move on works for me."

"You **_are_** an asshole," she added, glaring at Christian. She hesitated, then conceded: "Most of the time."

When she didn't say anything else, Christian said, frowning:

"And that's it?"

Gina gave him a puzzled look and he proceeded:

"I didn't expect us to kiss and make up, but what about saying that you won't vandalize my stuff again?"

"Oh, for God's sake!" -- Gina threw her hands up into the air in exasperation -- "Read my lips, asshole. It. Wasn't. Me."

"I think she's telling the truth, Christian," Grace said as he opened his mouth to retort.

"What!"

"You didn't actually see her flatten the tires of your car, did you?" she reasoned.

"She had just finished when I got there!" he protested.

"I had just arrived there, asshole," Gina snapped. "You know what?" she said, angrily opening her purse and starting to fumble inside it. "Your friend here told me that someone trashed your oh so precious car this morning." -- she took a few crumpled credit card receipts from inside her purse and tossed them on the table before him

"Here," she spat. "I was in the mall. Across town. All morning. Happy now?"

"I…" -- Christian frowned as he warily looked at the receipts, checking dates and times.

"Shit," he muttered, raising his eyes from the receipts and looking at Gina again. "It wasn't you. I was so sure it had been you."

As he turned to Grace, the puzzled look on his face was almost comic, and she couldn't help but smile as she said gently:

"She sounded quite convincing when we talked back at the church, even before I saw the receipts."

"Shit," Christian said again, disappointedly scratching his head.

"I'm sorry that I didn't trash your stuff," Gina scoffed. "Right now, I have other things -- more important things -- in my mind."

Christian took a sip of his beer, giving her an unimpressed look, and she raised her chin defiantly and blurted out:

"I'm pregnant. Not with your child," she clarified with a sneer, rolling her eyes when he choked and nearly spat the beer. "My period came the very day after you screwed me."

"I don't know who the father is," she said with a haughty look that dared anyone to disapprove. "And I don't care. Probably some scumbag with whom I slept afterwards."

"What are you going to do now?" Grace asked before she could stop herself.

"I'm moving back to Nevada," Gina said, gingerly picking up her credit card receipts from the table. "My mother still lives there. Called her last week," she proceeded, keeping her eyes on the receipts as she placed them back into her purse. "Hadn't spoken to her in three years, and all she had to say was that I should come back home and raise my kid next to the family." -- she shrugged, still looking down at her purse with slightly misty eyes -- "Go figure."

"Good for you two," Grace said gently, and after a moment Gina returned her smile with a sheepish smile of her own.

"I should be going," Gina sighed, gathering her wits and checking her watch, "This will be my last meeting here, and there are a few people to whom I'd like to say good-bye."

"Thank you for listening to me," Grace said with a smile, standing up as the blonde did.

"Thank you for talking to me," Gina said earnestly, reaching out to shake her hand.

There was an awkward moment as Christian too, stood up, but he finally said somewhat uneasily:

"Good luck."

He held out his hand and, after a moment of hesitation, Gina shook it. He and Grace watched in silence as she left the coffee shop; then Christian sighed, turning to Grace again.

"It seems I've made you come all the way here for nothing," he said.

"It wasn't for nothing," she corrected him. "We ruled her out as a suspect and we helped her move on with her life. It's never for nothing when you do something nice for someone else."

She caught sight of his smile and gave him a puzzled look:

"What?"

"You're a rather peculiar woman, Dr. Santiago," he said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Why, Dr. Troy," she replied with a smirk, "I'm not quite sure if I should take that as a compliment."

"To be completely honest," he admitted good-naturedly, "neither am I. Come on," he said, his grin widening as she smiled back at him, "let's get out of here: dinner is on me."

"Uh… I'm not sure this would be a good idea," Grace said, her smile faltering as the idea sent a not all too unpleasant shiver down her spine.

"Why not?" Christian asked with an innocent look that she didn't buy for one second.

"Christian," she said gently, "we've come a long way during the past few weeks. Blurring the borderlines now would be… unwise."

"You did something nice for me today; I just wanna do something nice for you in return," he said with a solemn expression that was somehow spoiled by the sly glint in his eyes.

"Christian…" Grace started to say as firmly as possible, but she could feel her resolve waning as she stared into the blue eyes that seemed to draw her in.

"Come on, it's just dinner," he said with deliberate casualness, already opening his wallet and placing a few bills on the table under the empty beer bottle. "No dessert," he added, a spark dancing in his eyes as Grace blushed slightly, showing that the double entendre hadn't been lost on her. "If your figure is what you're worried about," he added after a beat.

She opened her mouth to object again, but, God, was it hard to think straight when he was giving her that killer smile, one eyebrow cocked slightly in expectation and a glint in his eyes that could make him look like the charmer she knew he was but also like a mischievous little boy.

"Just dinner," she finally said with as much composure as she could muster, allowing him to walk her out of the coffee shop.

They left the coffee shop and walked back to the parking lot in charged silence. Grace kept her eyes on her car as they made their way toward it, trying to will herself to cool off before she faced Christian again. "Of course you could always tell him that you've changed your mind and call it a night," said a voice in her mind, but this voice was quickly shushed and she asked him, opening her purse and retrieving her car keys:

"Where to?"

"Trust me," he said with a smile, closing his hand around hers and gently taking the car keys from her.


	14. Chapter 14

"I don't see any restaurants," Grace said in a soft chiding tone as Christian stopped her car in front of his condo.

"I said dinner," he smoothly reminded her. "I never said restaurant."

Grace flicked her tongue, making a small reproaching sound even if she knew that she should have seen this one coming a mile away. Christian smiled at her and she swallowed, a whirl of butterflies coming to life inside her stomach.

"My car will be at the mechanic's shop until tomorrow," he said with a nonchalance belied by the smoldering look in his eyes. He reached out and took her hand, gently running his thumb across her palm. "I left the remote in my office; just wait while I open the garage door with my key and then I'll park your car inside."

"Sidewalk is just fine," Grace said huskily, throwing self-restraint out in the wind, and if it occurred to Christian that the security provided by the garage was worth the five minutes it would take for him to park the car indoors, he didn't bother to argue his point and lost no time parking the car by the sidewalk.

They hastily got out of the car, and Christian turned on the alarm and handed the car keys back to Grace as they half walked, half scampered toward his apartment, eventually dropping all pretenses of caring about dinner as they reached his apartment in the bare minimum time required by the standards of civilized behavior.

Grace gasped when he swirled her around and pulled her to him for a searing kiss as soon as they walked through the door, closing the door behind them with a kick. He pinned her to the wall, kissing her hungrily, and she moaned softly into his mouth, her fingernails rasping his skin as she pulled him even closer.

As Christian walked her towards the bedroom in between kisses, leaving a trail of discarded clothes in their wake, Grace was faintly aware of the clanking sound made by his keys as he tossed them on the nearest table, not bothering to look back to see where they had landed. When her purse hit the floor with a soft thud, she didn't remember having dropped it because she was too busy helping Christian out of his shirt, her lips following the trail of her hands as the last button was unclasped and the shirt went to join her blouse on the floor.

In the back of her mind Grace was somewhat shocked that they were still half way across the living room and Christian was already unclasping her bra with an expert hand, his free arm around her waist, keeping her as close as physically possible without their bodies melting into one another. In fact, they were close enough for her to feel that she was indeed going to reach melting point anytime soon.

All thoughts about proper dating etiquette vanished from her mind, though, as the bra was quickly discarded and Christian grabbed her by her butt and swept her off her feet, unceremoniously carrying her to the bedroom.

- x x x x x -

Grace stared at the ceiling, lying on her back and trying to catch her breath as she waited for the world to come back to focus. She was pretty sure that she was supposed to regret what they had just done, but this would have to wait until her mind was able to form any thought more elaborated than "Wow". _Wow_. In huge capital letters and bold format. She could hear Christian's breath gradually slowing down as he lay by her side, and she inhaled deeply, trying to focus her mind. She wasn't supposed to be here. She should never have agreed to… _Wow._ Grace sighed and mentally rolled her eyes. _Damn it._

She felt Christian's weight shift on the bed as he turned toward her again. He gently nudged her to her side and spooned her, and Grace smiled despite herself and nestled in his embrace when he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in the crane of her neck with a content sigh.

"I hope you're not planning to flee like last time," he murmured against her skin. "Because I'm running out of lame lines to make you stay."

"It was kind of an awkward line," Grace admitted, giggling. "But, in your defense," she proceeded softly, reaching out behind her to touch his face, "it did work."

"What about today?" Christian pushed, his arms locked tightly around her despite his joking tone. "Should I worry about you bolting through the door the moment I look the other way?"

"No," she said with a smile, caressing his forearm. She hesitated, then craned her neck to look at him as she added in feign solemnness: "You lured me here with the promise of a free meal: I'm not leaving without one."

"A deal is a deal," Christian said, grinning. "I'll see about dinner in a moment," he proceeded, kissing her lightly on the lips, and then on the cheek and the neck as he found his way back to the soft spot between her neck and her shoulder that he had been nuzzling a moment ago.

Grace sighed and closed her eyes, deciding that she'd have plenty of time to fret afterwards as she allowed herself to relax and relish the moment. She fondled the strong arm that was wrapped around her waist and eventually rested her hand on top of Christian's, her fingers lazily intertwining with his.

When she opened her eyes a moment later, Grace realized that she must have dozed off, because the covers that Christian had pulled over her didn't quite make up for the loss of the warmth of his body. She rolled towards the other side of the bed and saw him standing by the open door of the closet, wearing sweatpants and sneakers and pulling a T-shirt down over his head.

"Hey." -- he turned to her with a smile as he heard the shuffling of the covers -- "Hungry?"

"Starving," she admitted. She sat up on the bed, giving his clothes a curious look: he didn't look like a man who was planning to go out for dinner anywhere in the near future. "Where are you ordering?"

"I'm not," Christian said simply, throwing another T-shirt to her. "Do you like fish?"

"I'm not crazy about codfish," Grace told him as she put the T-shirt on. "But, other than that, yes, I love fish."

She threw her legs over the edge of the bed and looked around, trying to spot her underwear. She was pretty sure that her panties had made it to the bedroom. Maybe not all the way to the bed, but still…

"Is this what you're looking for?" Christian asked with a sly grin, and she made a face on him and snatched the panties from his hand.

"You don't look like a size 13," he said, indicating a pair of slippers that lay beside the bed, "but I believe you'll find these more comfortable than those high heels you had on."

"Thanks." -- Grace smiled as she slid her feet into the slippers that indeed seemed to swallow them.

"So," she said, standing up and giving Christian a curious look, "I don't mean to sound ravenous, but… the fish?"

"Sitting in the kitchen as we speak," he said, taking her by her hand and leading her out of the bedroom, "just waiting to be turned into patties."

"You're gonna cook?" she said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"If you'd rather eat it right out of the can, suit yourself," he said, shrugging. "I for one like my salmon patties lightly browned."

"You. Are gonna cook?"

"I'm gonna cook **_my_** dinner," Christian said as they reached the kitchen. "For you, I'm this close to ordering pizza."

"Now," Grace said kittenishly, catching the hand that he held out in front of her face, his thumb and his index finger an inch apart from each other, "that's just mean."

She smiled when he chuckled softly and leaned forward to peck her on the lips.

"Behave," he said in mock sternness before turning toward the kitchen cabinet.

"You just don't seem like the cooking type," Grace remarked as she sat by the kitchen's table.

"I'm the picky type," Christian said, taking a Pyrex bowl out of the cabinet and placing it on the counter. "I like my food the way I like it," he explained as he placed some condiment bottles beside the bowl, "and I don't want anyone telling me that I can't add garlic to this or that I must have parsley with that."

"So," Grace said with a smile, resting one elbow on the table and her chin on her hand as she watched him, "you decided to cook your own meals and be the king of your domain?"

"I like takeout just like the next guy," he told her with a smile, opening the cabinet under the sink and producing a pressure cooker and a masher, "but one of the joys of being a grown up is the fact that no one can tell you what to eat."

"Speak for yourself," Grace said. "My mother still inspects my fridge every time she comes for a visit. I can see where you're coming from, though," she added, smiling. "I just lack the skills to do anything fancier than scrambled eggs."

"So, I guess asking you for help is not an option?" Christian asked, giving her an amused glance while he filled the pot with water and placed it on the stove.

"I'm really good with a can opener," she replied with a straight face, and he scoffed good-naturedly and opened the cabinet again, throwing a can of pink salmon to her.

"When you're done," he told her, placing a box of crackers beside the bowl, "crumb three of these inside the bowl."

"This sounds pretty simple," Grace admitted, standing up and walking towards the can opener that sat on the counter. "But I bet you'll soon start talking about tricky stuff like seasoned flour and pasta al dente."

"If you can't cook," Christian said while nimbly peeling some potatoes and throwing them into the pressure cooker, "where did you learn those terms?"

"My mother is the greatest cook ever," she told him with a proud grin, putting the open can aside and turning her attention to the crackers. "Everyone thought that the cooking gene had skipped a generation until my brother Andy started to discuss spices and sauces with mom."

"Is Andy the one who went snorkeling with you last weekend?" Christian asked, handing her a pestle.

"No, that was Charlie; Andy is my younger brother."

"No sisters?"

"Only another brother: Paul is the oldest."

Christian arched his eyebrows, letting out a soft whistle.

"Three brothers. Should I be worried?" he asked jokingly, eyeing her naked legs.

"If I were you, I'd be more worried about dinner right now. So far, all I've seen is boiled potatoes and cracker crumbs," Grace said slyly.

"Keep that attitude and this is exactly what you'll have for dinner."

- x x x x x -

Thirty minutes later, as Grace helped herself to more legumes to go with her third patty, she was more than glad to take back all her teasing.

"I won't even bother to ask for the recipe because I'd just mess it up anyway," she said, "but this is delicious."

"From what I saw in the kitchen, you probably would," Christian said, refilling her glass. She made a face on him and he added, grinning: "Next time you want salmon patties, all you have to do is ask."

Grace blushed slightly and didn't answer, but she was smiling as she took a sip of her wine.

"So," she said, putting the glass down, "now that we've ruled Gina out as a suspect, what will you do next?"

"I have no idea," Christian admitted. He stuck an asparagus with his fork and frowned at it: "I almost wish this was indeed Gina's doing: now I feel kind of bad for having shoved her to the floor the way I did."

"Uh… what?" -- Grace raised her eyebrows, stopping with her own fork half way to her mouth.

"I hadn't told you about that part yet, had I?" Christian asked, grimacing and placing the asparagus back on his plate.

"I'm pretty sure I would remember if you had," Grace said gently.

"I was mad," he said defensively. "She had… my stalker had flattened the tires of my car, inside my own clinic, and Gina was standing there, telling me that I had it coming."

"And then you… shoved her to the floor?"

"You had to be there to understand," Christian said, glaring at the asparagus as he jabbed it again with a vengeance. "She was gloating."

"Christian, you **_need _**to learn to control your temper," Grace sighed, "before it gets you into some major trouble. The lawsuit kind."

"She wouldn't have sued me," he said stubbornly, "because I have proof that she pushed me over the edge that day."

Grace gave him an inquisitive look and he proceeded:

"I have a copy of the surveillance tape from that day. It's in my desk at the clinic right now, and if Gina had been stupid enough to sue me, I'd have rubbed that tape on her face."

"What?"

"That's right," he said, gesturing with the fork and the impaled asparagus. "I may have lost my temper that day, but she…"

"Christian," Grace reached out and not so gently placed her hand on top of his, the one that wasn't brandishing an innocent asparagus like a weapon. "Say it again, and listen to yourself this time."

"I may have lost…"

"Before that," she coached him. "You asked security…"

"For a copy of the surveillance tape," Christian said, giving her a puzzled look, "of the day when I had that fight with Gina in the clinic's garage."

"The same day when your stalker was at the clinic's garage," Grace added in a very deliberate voice.

"Yes, it was the same…" -- Christian's voice trailed off and he stared at Grace with eyes as big as saucers as realization hit him like a punch.

"You're unbelievable!" Grace exclaimed, half in exasperation, half laughing, throwing her hands up into the air.

"I'm a moron, that's what I am," he uttered in shock. "That tape has been in my desk for near a week now."

He saw the look on Grace's face and sighed.

"Don't boast," he said sulkily.

"I'm not boasting," she said, struggling to bite back a smile. He narrowed his eyes at her and she giggled: "Okay, maybe a little."

Christian tried to glare at her, but he ended up snickering, and as Grace followed suit, they were soon laughing heartily.

"God, I'm such an idiot," Christian sighed good-naturedly as their laughter subdued.

"You're not," Grace said gently. "You're just angry and so eager to find someone at whom to lash back that you end up overlooking important things."

She smiled and placed her hand over his again, her fingers gently caressing his.

"Pretty much like your stalker, who's wasting the energy she should be using to move on in her attempts to hurt you back."

Christian sighed, staring at her hand as he returned the caress.

"Here's to learning with my mistakes," he said, giving her a lopsided grin and raising his glass with his free hand.

"Here's to hoping," Grace teased, not letting go of his hand and raising her own glass with her left hand instead.

"I wish I had told you this while we were still at the clinic, though," Christian said as they placed their glasses back on the table. "We could already know who my stalker is by now."

"Well, you own the place," Grace reminded him. "If it's bugging you that much, you can always go back there now and get that tape."

"Nah," he said, grinning at her. "I have plans for tonight."

- x x x x x -

"So…?" Christian asked as the credits of "Little Shop of Horrors" -- original version -- rolled up the screen.

"Sorry." -- Grace raised her head from his chest, craning her neck to give him an apologizing smile. -- "I love musicals."

"Oh, come on! All that singing and dancing around!…"

"That's why they're called musicals." -- she giggled when he huffed.

"I'm not saying that this one isn't very good, too," Grace said conciliatorily. "I just happen to like the remake better."

Ignoring his indignant look, Grace smiled and rested her head on his chest again. It had taken them some time to find the perfect snuggling position on the couch and she didn't feel like moving just now. Christian seemed to agree with her because he didn't protest any further and just leant back on the couch, his hand tracing lazy patterns on her back and sending delicious shivers down her spine.

Having already spent the first all-consuming wave of passion earlier that evening, they now took their time fooling around on the couch, plenty of teasing and giggling permeating their making out before they eventually left the couch and headed back to the bedroom. Later on, as they lay together under the covers, sated and happy, Christian didn't ask if she planned to stay over, nor did Grace feel that she needed an invitation.


	15. Chapter 15

Grace rolled to Christian's side of the bed with a contentedsigh. The sheets were still warm: she had woken up when he got out of bed, and had looked over her shoulder just in time to see him enter the bathroom.

She smiled and stretched leisurely, her mind filled with pleasant memories of the previous night. When the phone on the nightstand began to ring, Grace glared at it: couldn't real life wait until after breakfast? When Christian didn't come out of the bathroom to answer it, she stuck out her tongue at the phone and rolled away from it and back to the other side of the bed with a small pleased grin.

When the machine picked up after the second ring, though, and Christian's recorded voice instructed the caller to leave a message, Grace's smile vanished and she sat up on the bed, uneasy. Listening to the message didn't feel right, but what was she supposed to do? Go wait in the living room, naked as a jaybird?

"Hi!" a female voice chirped after the beep, causing Grace to cringe and actually give the naked-in-the-living-room plan a second thought. _Awkward_.

"It's me. Sheryl."

She giggled and Grace groaned. _Thank you so much for ruining the mood, Sheryl_.

Grace threw her legs over the edge of the bed with a sigh, trying to block outSheryl's annoying baby voice as she started to pick up her clothes, glad that she had taken the time to arrange them neatly on a chair the night before while Christian was setting up the DVD player. _Well, you knew upfront that he has slept around; it's not his fault that one of his conquests would choose this particular morning to call._ Despite her rationalizing, though, Grace gritted her teeth at Sheryl's blabbering and dressed quickly, eager to leave the room.

"Are you still sleeping or have you already left for work? I didn't want to call too early, but then again, I didn't want to call too late, either."

_Oh, for crying out loud, just ask him to call you back already!_

"Anyways…" -- Sheryl stretched the word flirtatiously -- "I hope you're not mad at me for canceling at the last minute last night."

The shoe that Grace was holding met the floor with a dull thud, and she turned slowly towards the answering machine, her stomach plummeting as Sheryl proceeded:

"We're still on for tonight, right? Erica has agreed to cover my shift for me, and she can't back down now, not when I've just covered for her last night." -- she giggled again, but this time Grace was too numb to even cringe --"Christian, I'm so excited! I still can't believe we're going to 'The Scene'!"

Grace stared blindly at the answering machine, her stomach twisted in a tight knot; she didn't notice when Christian flung the bathroom door open, having finally heard Sheryl's voice over the sound of the water running.

"Grace…"

She jumped in place as his voice broke her out of her trance; without a word, Grace turned her back to him and hastily picked up her shoes from the floor again, ignoring him as he walked out of the bathroom, still naked.

"Grace, I'm so sorry. It's, it's not what it sounds like."

He hesitated, looking from her to the answering machine, but Sheryl seemed to be at long last getting to the point where she would ask him to call her back, so he didn't bother to mute the machine and turned to Grace again, noticing with dismay that she was already fully dressed and hurrying towards the door.

"Grace, please," he called, following her out of the bedroom. "I set that date a week ago, it just slipped my mind last night!"

Without looking at him, Grace grabbed her purse from an armchair; Christian caught her arm, but she yanked it free with such violence that the purse was opened and half of its contents were spilled on the floor.

"Get your hands off me!" she snarled, shooting him a look that made Christian let go of her arm and actually take a step back, wincing.

"Grace, please, don't do this," he pleaded as she crouched on the floor and started to fetch her belongings and hastily throw them back into her purse. "Look, I'm gonna call her now and call it off, okay? I just…"

"Oh, really?" Grace spat, retrieving her car keys from under the couch and angrily tossing them into her purse. "So, now that you've had a chance to compare me to her, you decided to take me to 'The Scene' instead of her?" -- she saw the look on his face at the mention of the swing party and snorted bitterly -- "I, too, interviewed Cliff Mantegna, Christian."

"Grace, I never…" -- he started to reach out for her but she jumped back to her feet, holding the purse tight against her chest.

"Shut up," Grace snapped. "Just…" -- her voice quivered and without thinking Christian reached out for her again, but she angrily swatted his hand away

"Stay away from me!" she screeched, taking a step back.

Christian opened his mouth but she held up her hand to silence him, inhaling deeply and collecting herself before speaking again.

"Stay the hell away from me," she said in a low, tight voice. "At least have the decency not to try and make excuses." -- she took another step away from him, eyes blazing with anger and hurt -- "I'm done with you, Christian. From now on, you do what you want with your life; I don't care."

Without another word, she abruptly turned on her heels and marched straight to the door. Christian started to follow her, but the cold breeze that hit his body as he reached the open door reminded him of his current naked state, and he quickly backed away from the door lest one of his neighbors decided to check on the commotion.

He quietly closed the door but made no move to return to the bedroom, knowing that by the time he got dressed Grace would already be gone. Not to mention that her car was parked right in front of the condo while his was still at the mechanic's shop. So he just stood there, his hand still resting on the doorknob, staring gloomily at the closed door and trying to wrap his mind around the way a perfect morning had so quickly gone to hell.

- x x x x x -

Grace drove as far as she could before the tears that she had managed to hold back until she was out of Christian's sight finally started to blur her vision, forcing her to pull over.

At first she just sat there, hands on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead through the windshield with tears inher eyes, trying to will herself to stop shaking.

"Son of a bitch," she whispered. "Son of a bitch, son of a bitch, son of a bitch," she repeated until her voice cracked and she rested her head on the wheel with a sob. He had played her like a fiddle, and she had bought his 'trying to be a better man' act, swallowing hook, line and sinker. She bitterly wondered if he had planned all along to keep her around as a stand in or if it had been just a spur of the moment decision when he had checked his messages the evening before and found out that Sheryl wouldn't make it to their date.

Grace closed her hands into tight fists and pummeled the steering wheel with a scream of mixed anger and humiliation. The pain that she felt when her fists hit the wheel helped clear her thoughts, and the psychiatrist in her recognized the first signs of impending hysteria; she closed her eyes and ran her hands through her hair, taking a deep breath and leaning back on her seat.

_What would you say to a patient?_ She swallowed hard and opened her eyes again, wiping the tears from her face. _Sort out your feelings_. She chuckled humorlessly. _So not going down that road now_. Not when she had -- she checked her watch -- little more than an hour to go home, shower and arrive at the clinic in time for her first consultation of the day. Grace mentally went through her schedule, trying to remember if she would be interviewing any patients along with Christian today. If she could just avoid him for the rest of the day, she was pretty sure she'd be able to keep her act together until it was time to go home and figure out what she was going to do. Would she be able to keep working with him -- **_for_** him -- after this? Did she **_want_** to keep working for him? Grace sighed. She just couldn't deal with this just now. If she tried, she was going to start to cry again, and she had a feeling that once she started, she wouldn't be stopping any time soon. _I've known him for a few months, slept with him twice. Why does it hurt so much?_

"Home," Grace said firmly, breaking away from that train of thought and straightening herself on the seat. "Home, shower, work. Anything else will just have to wait."

She resolutely turned the key in the ignition and put the car in motion again. She might quit her job on the next day, but she wasn't going to be fired, and she was damn well not going to get another warning for arriving late at work.

- x x x x x -

By ten o'clock that morning, word was out at the clinic that one would be wise to stay out of Dr. Troy's way that day. After listening to Sheryl's two recorded messages -- the one that Grace had overheard that morning plus the one that she had left the night before -- Christian realized that he was in deeper trouble than he had first thought. As he arrived at the clinic, he was mad at Sheryl for calling, at Grace for not giving him a chance to explain himself, at Sean for leaving him alone to perform two tummy tucks in a row that morning -- how many chiropractic sessions did one person need, anyway? --, at the cab driver for trying to make small talk, at the whole damn world for existing.

It wasn't until lunchtime, as he was leaving to pick up his car at the mechanic's shop, that it occurred to Christian that there was someone else at whom he was mad. Someone upon whom he could righteously and lawfully unleash his rage.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting at the security room, staring agape at the scene playing out on the monitor.

"Kimber?" he uttered, watching in shock as the blonde industriously flattened the tires of his car, one by one.

The shock was gradually replaced by anger as he recalled all the damage Kimber had done in her revenge rampage: his boat, his car, his house, the -- _first fight with Grace_ -- humiliation in front of his neighbors.

"Is there anything else, Dr. Troy?" -- the security guard's voice brought Christian back to the present with a start.

"No," Christian said grimly. "Just give me back the tape."

"On second thought," he added as the other man handed the tape to him, "make another copy of the original, just in case."

"Sure, Dr. Troy."

As Christian marched out of the security room with the incriminating tape in his hand, he felt one last pang of sorrow at the idea of pressing charges against Kimber. What he had told her at the photo shoot hadn't been a lie. She had been sweet and trusting, and he had treated her like shit. Still, the idea of patching things up with Kimber without getting the police involved sounded too much like his recent cease-fire with Gina, which only served to remind Christian that he was having a crappy day and someone ought to pay for that.

"Fran," he said as he walked by the reception desk, "I'll be taking an extended lunch hour. Tell Dr. McNamara that I won't be back until two o'clock."


	16. Chapter 16

"Dr. Santiago, do you have a moment?"

"Sure," Grace told the receptionist with a smile after checking her watch. Having successfully avoided Christian during the previous day and this morning, she was now steeling herself to interview a patient with him at 2pm; and while the appointment itself was inevitable, she had every intention of only entering that room when the patient was already there.

The prospect of the interview was enough to make her innards twist and lurch, though, and it took every ounce of Grace's willpower to look interested in what Fran was saying. "Two months," she mentally intoned like a mantra, while nodding in polite interest. In two months she'd have paid the last installment for that fancy notebook that she now wished she had never bought, and then she'd be out of McNamara and Troy faster than you could say "two weeks notice".

She didn't notice the man until he addressed her:

"Christian Troy's office?"

Grace stared back at him, taken aback by his appearance: the open shirt, the gold chain hanging from his neck, the wild look in his eyes contrasting with his leisured manners. But mostly the baseball bat that he was holding with offhand ease.

Realizing that he wasn't going to get an answer from her, the man flashed her a small, humorless grin, saying simply:

"I'll find it."

It wasn't until he had walked through the doorway that led into the inner premises of the clinic that Grace found her voice again and turned back to an equally stunned Fran.

"I suppose there's a security procedure for situations like this?" she managed to stammer.

- x x x x x -

When Christian walked into the lobby thirty minutes later, he was greeted by the sight of two of Miami's finest hauling a man out of the clinic, while half of the staff watched, agape. Before he could ask for an explanation, the guy noticed him and nearly broke free from the cops' hold in his attempt to lunge at Christian.

"You broke her heart!" he yelled at Christian. "You broke her heart, you son of a bitch, and now you sent the cops after her!"

"I'd have made her happy," he said in a quieter, bitter voice, while one of the cops dragged him away and the other stayed behind to speak with Christian and with Sean, who was standing there, fuming.

"What the hell happened here?" Christian asked after Kimber's fiance was taken out of the clinic.

"He trashed your office with a baseball bat," Sean told him acridly.

"So I guess we found your vandal," said the cop that Christian now recognized as the one with whom he had talked a few weeks ago, after Kimber first trashed his garage door.

"He's not the one; I found the person who was trashing my property," Christian told him. He sighed, still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. "This is..."

"Just another happy coincidence?" Sean cut him off, his almost lighthearted tone telling Christian that he was in for a serious tongue-lashing, and having him wishing they would have this conversation somewhere else.

"Are you gonna press charges?" the cop asked.

"No," Christian sighed, shaking his head. Pressing charges against Kimber hadn't been half as gratifying as he had hoped it would. Right now, he just wanted it to be over; he wanted these people out of his life for good.

Without a word, the cop nodded in agreement and left, and after watching him go Sean turned his attention to Christian again.

"Who the hell was that guy?" he demanded.

Christian swallowed, acutely aware of Grace standing just a few feet away, looking rather disturbed herself.

"He's the fiance of this woman I knew," he uttered as nonchalantly as he managed to.

"This woman you **_knew_**," Sean echoed, emphasizing the word. "In the biblical sense, I'm guessing."

"Yes, Sean," Christian said in a tight voice, keeping his voice down and wishing his partner would do the same. "I slept with the guy's fianceé, and he didn't take it kindly."

He did his best to keep his eyes from meeting Grace's, but this was no easy task when she was in his direct line of vision, standing a few steps behind Sean.

"She's the one who has been vandalizing my stuff," he added, staring at his own feet, the entryway, a potted plant, anywhere but in Grace's general direction. He just didn't want to deal with this, not now, not here, not in front of his employees, and definitely not in front of her, but Sean was on a row now:

"This has got to stop, Christian. What you do in your personal time is your own damn business, but when it affects your workplace, **_my_** workplace, it becomes my business, too."

Christian opened his mouth to protest, or at least to ask that his screw-ups not be discussed in front of -- _Grace_ -- the people who worked for him, but Sean was on full rant mode now, and wasn't going to be deterred:

"You don't shit where you eat. Be a goddamned professional!" he lashed out.

To Christian's surprise, at that point Grace took a step forward; she opened her mouth and seemed to be about to interrupt Sean, but Christian never found out what she was going to say, because Sean's next words had her frozen in place:

"You don't see me acting that way. You don't see Dr. Santiago acting that way."

She winced, her eyes meeting his for the briefest moment before she abruptly turned on her heels and headed back inside. Sean didn't seem to notice her reaction, though, and he proceeded, pointing his finger at Christian.

"If it happens again..."

"What are you gonna do, dad?" Christian finally snapped in mixed anger and humiliation, his voice rising to overpower Sean's. "Dock my paycheck?"

"If it happens again, someone could get hurt," Sean said in a voice that was shaking slightly with barely pent up anger. "Would that make it stop? Would that get your attention, Christian?"

He turned around and stormed back into the clinic without waiting for an answer, while Christian stood speechless in the middle of the lobby, his throat growing tight as his friend's words added an extra level of shame to his already miserable state of mind.

- x x x x x -

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Flores," Christian said, looking up from the clipboard and back to his patient, "I'll have to ask you to repeat that last part." -- the patient's frown quickly vanished at the sight of Christian's apologetic smile -- "I have a migraine today; to be honest, with any other patient I'd have just asked my partner to cover for me with this interview." -- he flashed her another charming smile for good measure -- "But it's been a while, and I wanted to see you again."

"Dr. Troy, don't think I don't know that you say that to all your female patients," the woman chided him flirtly, and Grace surreptitiously dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand, focusing on the pain instead of on the growing urge to run out of the room.

Grace kept her eyes on her own clipboard, pretending to be very interested in her notes while Mrs. Flores went over her monthly schedule one more time so that Christian could help her determine when the best time for her tummy tuck would be. The past twenty minutes had been even more of an agony than she had imagined they'd be, even if she and Christian hadn't said a word to each other after he introduced her to their patient. Just sitting there by his side was tearing her up inside, and right now Grace was seriously considering selling her car just so that she could afford to quit her job in two weeks instead of two months.

She could, of course, borrow the money from her parents or even from one of her brothers, but how would she explain quitting her job two weeks after asking for a two thousand dollars loan? When one lent you that kind of money, the least you could do was tell them the truth about your motives. And the truth would be just... Grace pressed her lips tightly together, keeping her head down while she pretended to add something to her notes. _Sure, mom, he has slept with half of Miami's female population, but I was drunk, and he's smoking hot, one thing led to another..._

Suddenly the clipboard was snatched from her hands, and Grace watched, bewildered, as Christian pretended to read from the paper that currently contained but a few superficial notes that she had managed to write down during the interview.

"I see that Dr. Santiago still has some questions of her own," he told Mrs. Flores with a straight face, "but I'm sure she'll make them during your one on one consultation next week."

Gathering her wits to produce what she hoped would pass for a pleasant smile, Grace turned to the patient, saying:

"Fran at the reception desk will set this appointment for you."

When Christian stood up, she followed suit, just relieved that the interview had come to an end. He didn't acknowledge her again as they walked Mrs. Flores to the lobby; as soon as the patient was out of earshot, though, his pleasant smile vanished and, turning to Grace, he hissed:

"We don't pay you to daydream; next time, at least pretend to be listening to the patient."

Grace's eyes widened with shock and she drew a sharp intake of breath, but before she could reply Christian turned around and marched back to his office, leaving her standing there, livid with rage.

- x x x x x -

Christian leaned forward and rested his open hands on the tiled wall, closing his eyes and letting the cold water wash over his nape and shoulders. There was only so much exercise a man could do, and he was fairly sure that he had reached his personal limit that evening, but at least he was now too exhausted to brood over the events of the day. He spent several minutes in that position, breathing heavily and relishing the punishing pounding of the water that run at full force from the shower faucet.

Finally he took his hands of the wall with a sigh and reached out for the soap. As he lathered his body, Christian blocked out all thoughts of Grace, Sean, Kimber, the whole mess that was his life with the same efficiency with which he blocked out any thoughts of... other bad things. He willed himself to focus his thoughts on the swing party he'd be attending the next night: from what he could remember, taking Sheryl home after the party would represent quite a detour from his own way back home but, knowing the girl, letting her sleep over on a Friday night could lead to all kinds of misunderstandings, the worse of them being Sheryl taking this as an invitation to spend the weekend with him.

"All in all, a detour is a small price to pay," Christian muttered to himself, starting to rinse the soap off his body. Sheryl's hot body and open mind might make her the ideal date for "The Scene", but the idea of spending a weekend with her was enough to make any man with an IQ higher than that of a potato run for the hills.

Stepping out of the shower, he eyed the sweaty clothes that he had dropped on the bathroom floor, decided that they weren't going anywhere and headed back to his bedroom while vigorously drying himself off.

He took some clothes out of the closet, hesitated for a moment, then hung the wet towel on the doorknob, glaring defiantly at it. _The maid comes tomorrow. Might as well give her a run for her money._

In the living room, already fully dressed, Christian plopped himself on the couch, placed both feet on the coffee table and turned on the TV. He flipped through the pages of the TV guide, only half listening to the local news, until something got his attention:

"... a physical exam failed to support a claim that he had sexually abused ten boys over the past five years."

Christian grimaced in disgust, but somehow couldn't take his eyes of the screen as the anchorwoman proceeded, telling how Father Michael Shannon's innocence had been proved when a genital examination failed to turn up a distinctive birthmark that all ten boys had claimed as physical proof of the abuse.

Christian slowly took his feet off the coffee table, placing them back on the floor and straightening up in his seat, mesmerized by what he saw as the anchorwoman's face was replaced on the screen by the face of Father Michael Shannon, aka Mike Shane, the man whose birthmark Christian himself had so efficiently removed just a few weeks ago.

The newscast had gone to commercial break when Christian finally snapped out of his trance and turned off the TV with an unsteady hand. Even then, he just sat there, feeling numb with shock, while the world spun around him; it took him some time to be able to think straight again.

"Sean."

Sean would know what to do. He'd tell his friend about this, and Sean's straight, down to earth reasoning would help him clear his own thoughts: together they'd make sure that Shane/Shannon was exposed as the monster he was.

Still, Christian cast the phone an uncertain look, hesitating to call Sean at home: they hadn't spoke again after the incident with Kimber's fiance that afternoon, and he wasn't sure of how Julia would greet him, either, should she be the one to answer the phone. The lump in his throat swelled as he contemplated how estranged he had grown to the only people he had ever considered family.

He abruptly stood up, but headed to the kitchen and to the beer that he had in the fridge instead of the telephone. He'd talk to Sean first thing in the morning, he decided as he opened the bottle and took a large gulp. That would give his friend time to cool down, Christian pondered, finishing the beer while absently preparing himself a cold cuts sandwich. The next two beers were consumed along with the sandwich, and he took another bottle with him to bed. Four beers later, and with the stress of the day and the overdone workout finally kicking in, he eventually slipped into a restless but nonetheless much welcome sleep.

- x x x x x -

When Sean entered the clinic the next morning, he was in an especially cheerful mood, having stopped by Megan's for a cup of coffee and some smooching; he was therefore caught off guard when Christian grabbed his arm and unceremoniously hauled him to the nearest empty room. And the disturbing news that his friend had for him didn't help in the least.

Now Sean rested his elbows on his desk and buried his face on his hands with a tired sigh. Just an hour ago he was stealing one last kiss from Megan at her door, and now he felt as if he had been hit in the head with a sledge hammer. On the one hand, he felt mighty relieved that he had managed to get Christian to compromise from his original reckless intent to go straight to the police with the guy's medical files. On the other hand... Sean looked up from his hands and swallowed hard as he stared at the pictures of his children lined up across his desk. What would he feel if something like this happened to one of them? Would he care about patient confidentiality then, or even about the prospect of going to jail for covering up the murder of another pedophile and henchman of a drug lord?

Sean leaned back in his seat and rubbed his face, wishing he could forget the look in Christian's eyes when his friend of more than twenty years pleaded with him: "He raped boys!". _He raped boys. Dear God, he raped boys, and for a moment I was willing to look the other way_. Sean felt that the look in his friend's eyes would haunt him forever, tried as he might to dismiss it with the rationalization that Christian's emotions were all over the place then.

He straightened up in the chair with a sigh and picked up the phone: the sooner he made that anonymous phone call to the diocese, the sooner he -- and, hopefully, Christian -- would be able to put that whole thing behind them and move on.


	17. Chapter 17

Grace flopped herself on the couch with a tired sigh. For the second evening in a row she had overdone it with the running, pushing herself to the limit, and now, after a cold shower had given the adrenaline time to let up, her body was making a point of letting its discontentment be known. Then again, the pain in her legs and her feet distracted her from other places that were also hurting, parts of her that wouldn't be soothed by Tylenol. And that was good. Sort of.

She eyed her bedroom's door and felt a pang of guilt as she thought of Olivia's flash drive, that had been inside her purse for almost a week now. Grace had borrowed the pen drive from her former college roommate to make a copy of the audio recordings of an eating disorders seminar, planning to transfer the files to her own computer and return the pen drive safely to its owner before the end of the week. But she had forgotten about it for a couple of days, and then... Grace closed her eyes and heaved a weary sigh. And then there had been the perfect night, followed by the aftermath from hell.

"Sorry, Liv," she muttered, leaning forward to pick up the Chinese takeout box that sat on the coffee table, and groaning when the movement caused a renewed wave of pain to course through her right calf. _Thank God it's Friday and I don't need to work tomorrow_. Then again, Grace pondered as she popped open her soda can, now she had to find another way to pass the weekend, one that didn't involve any kind of physical exercise, but that also prevented her from mulling over things that would be better off left alone. Maybe a horror movie marathon, she thought, preferably with a couple of good friends who wouldn't ask questions if she told them not to.

Grace took a gulp of her soda while using her free hand to channel surf. She needed something light, something silly, something outright mind numbing.

"_Family Guy" marathon. Thank God for small favors._

- x x x x x -

By the time Grace finally turned off the TV and stumbled to bed, Christian was arriving at his apartment after driving Sheryl home. He closed the door behind him and took off his jacket as he walked to the bedroom, feeling slightly nauseous for reasons that had nothing to do with the champagne he drank at "The Scene". He and Sheryl had traipsed from room to room at the swing party, and just like he had anticipated she had been very willing to try almost anything. After some point Christian had actually lost count of how many women he had been with that night, in different places and positions, in pairs and in threesomes, with relative privacy or before a cheering audience. He felt spent, and sated, and... yearning.

Christian was scowling as he hung his jacket on the back of a chair and proceeded to take off the rest of his clothes. He wouldn't be able to perform with another woman tonight if his own life depended on it, and yet... He angrily tossed his shirt over the jacket and cursed as he undid his belt. Damn that woman. Damn her to hell, popping into his mind at the most unexpected moments.

Then again, he thought while taking off his pants, it wasn't just that. He swallowed hard as he remembered the shock of seeing the woman he had mistaken for Julia walking arm in arm with Jude at the swing party. It turned out it wasn't her, after all, but for a moment he had been struck by such a sense of sheer panic that all thoughts of -- _Grace_ -- other women had been momentarily pushed from his mind. The whole thing had made Christian feel exposed and abashed, and the sardonic look in Jude's eyes had left no doubt that the younger man had noticed it.

Christian sat on the bed and removed his socks and his shoes, the crease between his eyebrows deepening as he remembered the whole scene, the faces of Jude and Vivian Schiraldi, the woman he had mistaken for Julia, the sinking feeling he had experienced at the thought of Julia being there, Jude's knowing smile. It was official now, Christian thought as he took off his Speedo and headed to the bathroom: his life sucked.

- x x x x x -

Christian stopped at the door to his office, his hand resting on the doorknob unwilling to comply with his brain's command to open the door and enter the room, where Grace and his ten o'clock patient were already waiting for him. One week after their big falling out Grace still wasn't speaking with him: she didn't acknowledge his existence unless the presence of a patient required them to keep up appearances, and the civilness with which she addressed him then only made more poignant the cold silence with which he was treated afterwards.

Not that his own attitude towards her was any warmer, his conscience pricked him. Christian swallowed: they had been playing this game for a week now, a long, glacial silence punctuated by occasional flares of open hostility when no one was watching. And while they bickered over mundane things like who had left the refrigerator door cracked in the break room, neither one ever mentioned the one thing that was at the root of their quarrel. Christian let out a tired sigh: he didn't know about Grace, but he was feeling worn out by now.

Upset as he might be about the present state of things, though, he wasn't about to be the one to raise the white flag. Christian took a deep breath and pasted his best smile on his face before opening the door and entering his office:

"Good morning, ladies."

"Dr. Troy," Grace said with a geniality that fooled only the patient, nodding her head at him by way of greeting.

"Good morning, Dr. Troy," said Devon Greco, a blond woman in her middle thirties who was sitting somewhat stiffly on her chair.

"So, Miss Greco," Christian said after sitting across the desk from her, "tell me what you don't like about yourself."

"My nose," was the prompt response.

Christian just nodded his head and picked up the patient application form that was sitting on his desk; when Miss Greco didn't elaborate any further, though, he raised his eyes from the form and gently probed:

"Too big, too small?"

"Too much like my father's," she said curtly.

Christian blinked, puzzled; with the corner of his eye he saw Grace straighten up in her chair and give the other woman a curious look.

"Miss Greco," she said gently, "not to be presumptuous, but it looks fine."

"More than fine, Dr. Santiago," Christian said. "It's the gold standard; all the big models possess the aquiline slope," he added, smiling at Miss Greco. "Linda Evangelista, Christy Turlington..."

"Yeah, well, I'm guessing that Christy Turlington's father didn't rape her," Miss Greco said dryly.

The room was silent for a beat as Christian and Grace sat frozen in place, both rendered speechless by the woman's words.

"But, hey, don't feel bad," she proceeded with mock nonchalance before either of them could regather their wits. "When I said I didn't feel like it, he'd give me money so that I could buy more Barbies," she told them, causing Christian to instinctively recoil in his seat.

"I thought that was love, you know," she added with a humorless smile.

"Did you report your father, Miss Greco?" Grace asked gently, leaning forward on the desk.

"When I was fourteen," Miss Greco said, nodding grimly. "My younger sister Janice had the room next to mine," she told them. "She was seven then. I heard him through the walls, whispering to her; I called the cops that night. We went to foster care."

"Are you currently in counseling, Miss Greco?" Christian asked in a composed voice, the short interplay between Grace and the patient having given him enough time to reestablish his defenses.

"Why does that matter to you?" -- Miss Greco frowned at him, casting him a suspicious look.

"You seem very angry," he told her mildly, the denial walls now securely based around the most dangerous areas of his mind. "You seem like you haven't really dealt with this."

Miss Greco straightened up in her seat, glaring at him.

"I've spent twelve years on a shrink's couch," she told him in a tight voice. "I'm sick of dealing with it. Every day when I look at the mirror, I see that man staring back at me."

Her voice trembled slightly and she stared defiantly at Christian's eyes as she demanded:

"I want him carved off my face."

Christian swallowed, Devon Greco's raw emotions causing his own demons to stir; he could almost feel them fluttering about in the darkest recesses of his mind like bats in a belfry. It took all he had to keep his composure under her burning stare, but he managed to proceed with but a slight tremor in his voice, averting her eyes as he opened his address book and quickly flipped through the pages:

"Miss Greco, I'd like to recommend a colleague of mine, Dr. Martin Hargrove."

"Wait a minute," she interrupted him, baffled. "You're blowing me off? Why?"

"I think you have unrealistic expectations," Christian said, a bit more harshly than he had intended to sound. But he couldn't stop now: he needed to get this woman out of his office, and he needed it now. "After you change your nose, then what, Miss Greco? Will you move on to altering your jawline?"

"Who the hell are you to tell me in what way I should properly heal?" she fired back, her voice trembling with outrage. "How dare you judge me when you have no idea what it's like to have a dick you can't say no to forced on you for years?"

Her words hit Christian like a physical blow, one that pushed all the air right out of his chest, and for a moment all he could do was stare back at her, the tight knot in his throat larger than ever. He felt naked and exposed, a sense of panic washing over him, feeling as if she could read his mind, everyone could read his mind, everyone knew.

When he felt Grace's hand suddenly close around his wrist, Christian nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Miss Greco, if I may...?" she said in a soothing voice that didn't trail off even when the patient's fiery glare was turned towards her. "What exactly do you expect your nose to look like after surgery? I'm afraid _not like your father's_ is an awfully broad concept."

"I don't care," Miss Greco said tersely.

"As you've just mentioned," Grace softly reminded her, "this is the face you have to see in the mirror every day. As much as you don't like what you see today, at least now you know who this woman is; you don't want to be looking at the mirror every day for the rest of your life and asking yourself, who the hell is this woman and what's she doing in my life?"

"Does that mean I'm having the surgery," Miss Greco asked edgily, but in a slightly less aggressive voice, "or are you just stalling me?"

Grace hesitated; she was utterly surprised that Christian had let her get this far without cutting her off. Unlike during their visit to Children's Services a few weeks ago, when her hand and his wrist had practically held a conversation of their own while she spoke to the social worker, this time his forearm was just resting meekly on his desk. And yet she could feel his racing pulse beneath her fingers, like a rabbit caught in a snare.

"Miss Greco, I won't lie to you," she told the other woman, refraining herself from stroking Christian's hand, "the final decision isn't mine. Besides," she added after a slight hesitation, "right now I'm not sure this surgery is a good idea."

Devon Greco opened her mouth to protest, but Grace quickly held up her free hand to silence her:

"I'll be more comfortable adding my endorsement to your application if I'm assured that this isn't a spur of the moment decision that you'll have the rest of your life to regret." -- Grace paused, carefully choosing her next words -- "Miss Greco, we're talking here about breaking bones and cartilage in order to reshape your nose: if you don't like the final result, no surgeon will be able to undo the procedure just like he'd remove a silicon implant. They'd have to break it again and start anew. Trust me, you do care. And," she proceeded gently, "the fact that you haven't even considered this matter tells me that we should take the time to plan this surgery more carefully."

"Well, as you said," Miss Greco said dryly, "the final decision isn't yours to make. And I still haven't heard him" -- she motioned toward Christian -- "say that he'll perform the surgery."

Grace glanced at Christian, half expecting him to snap again, but the look in his eyes as he looked back at her was something she didn't quite know how to interpret. He looked like a man who'd rather be anywhere but here and who had absolutely no intention of being part of this conversation, but Grace could see the flicker of something else behind his composed, if tense, exterior: she just couldn't tell what it was.

"Right now," she said, almost unwillingly turning to the patient again, "I can see where Dr. Troy is coming from when he objects to this surgery. But if you agree to work with me on this matter, I might have a different point of view to present to him at your next consult."

Miss Greco shifted on her seat, not looking pleased, and Grace proceeded:

"That's the best I can offer to you now, Miss Greco, but think about it: as it is, the clinic's policy already requires you to have another interview with me before the surgery. So, even if Dr. Troy gave you the okay right here and now, we'd still be having that interview, whose sole purpose, mind you, is to ensure that the service we'll provide will actually meet your needs. We're only switching the order of the interviews here, with your interview with me taking place before your interview with your surgeon."

Grace held her breath and subconsciously held Christian's wrist a little tighter as Miss Greco pursed her lips, clearly pondering her options.

"I suppose I could give it a go," she finally sighed, looking less than enthusiastic.

"I'll walk you to the reception desk," Grace said with a smile before the other woman could change her mind, "and we'll set an appointment for you."

"Dr. Troy," she said, turning to Christian then, "if you have a few minutes after I set Miss Greco's appointment..."

"I'm late for surgery, Dr. Santiago," he cut her off, abruptly pulling his arm from her hand. "Miss Greco," he said curtly to the patient before standing up and leaving the room while the two women watched, agape.

After he was gone, Miss Greco was the first one to recover from the shock:

"There'd better be another surgeon in this place, because that man isn't getting anywhere near me with a scalpel."

- x x x x x -

"And," Grace said, angrily cutting her steak, "she was right, Liz. She was absolutely right: I wouldn't let that self-involved, arrogant, unstable, narrow-minded..."

"... jerk get anywhere near you with a scalpel either," Liz finished the sentence for her, knowing that, if she didn't, their lunch break would be over before Grace finished lining up insults before Christian's name.

"I was helping him!" Grace exclaimed indignantly. "He was lost there: he had absolutely no idea how to handle the situation, and I stepped in and brokered a compromise, and this is how he thanks me? Humiliating me in front of the patient?"

Liz watched in sympathetic silence as Grace huffed and shook her head, turning her eyes back to her meal.

"Why does he act like this?" Grace sighed before putting a forkful of steak into her mouth.

"Well," Liz said, playing with the croûtons on her Caesar salad, "it's hard to tell why Christian acts the way he does. Who knows?" -- she shrugged -- "Maybe he felt humiliated when you kept your act together whilst he was losing it, maybe he was mad at you for negotiating with a patient that he had already blown off. Or maybe he was just retaliating because you didn't hold the elevator doors for him on Monday."

"I was in a hurry," Grace grumbled.

"What kills me," she sighed when Liz smiled but didn't reply, "is this emotional roller coaster. If he has to be such a jerk, why can't he at least be a jerk all the time?"

Liz hesitated and took a mouthful of salad to buy herself some time. She had been watching those two's ups and downs for the last month or so, but she still wasn't quite sure of what to make of their relationship. It was easy to tell when things were good between them, and not just because they could be seen making small talk in the break room: Grace's mood was chirpier, and getting along with Christian was so much easier. But peace never lasted long, eventually giving place to somber periods like the current one, with Grace spending all her free time in her office, up to her elbows in patients' medical files, and Christian's sarcasm reaching alarmingly high levels.

Liz deliberately chewed her food, wondering what exactly had happened last Wednesday: she had left work early that day, when everything seemed to be fine between Christian and Grace, and had returned on Thursday to find them in full battle mode. But Grace still hadn't told her what happened, and Liz didn't feel comfortable asking.

"He doesn't act like a jerk one hundred percent of the time," Liz finally said, "because he's not a hundred percent jerk. Maybe not even a ninety percent jerk," she conceded, "but if you tell anyone I said this, I'll deny it."

She placed her fork back on her plate and leaned back in her seat with a sigh.

"The affection he has for Sean is sincere," she acknowledged, "and he's really sweet with kids. And I don't mean just Sean's children: most of our little patients believe Dr. Troy is the greatest guy since sliced bread with peanut butter."

"The problem is, Christian is like a hyperactive eight year old brat who tries to be good, but is easily distracted by pretty shiny things. He wants to do good, but he also wants to do what he wants, and he can throw a nasty temper tantrum if you remind him that the two things are not always compatible."

Liz stopped abruptly when she noticed the sad look on Grace's face.

"I upset you," she said contritely.

"You only said it like you see it," Grace said in a quiet voice.

"Honey," Liz said gently, "are you sure you don't wanna talk about it?"

"It's a long story," Grace sighed, not bothering to pretend she didn't know what the other woman was talking about.

"If you don't finish it over lunch, the drinks are on me after work," Liz offered with a smile.

Grace pursed her lips and stared at her food in silence for a moment, using her fork to roll a cherry tomato back and forth on her plate.

Finally, she turned back to Liz with a sigh:

"Throw in some Buffalo wings and you've got yourself a deal."


End file.
